Cup of tea. Milk jug.
Sugar bowl. Lift lid.
Rubbing at a sugar grain,
Like a lamp in Aladdin's cave
Hiding there for days and weeks,
As one of Darwin's winning suites
Growing as the pile shrinks,
In bulbous eyes white crystal glints
Refract a kaleidoscope of sin,
Lord of all that's saccharine
And from the depths of sweet decay:
"Bit busy here, can you go away?"