Poems of the Week


by Julia Griffin

“Cascades of red wine flood a city’s streets in Portugal after huge tanks rupture”

In quaint São Lourenço, no angels will tread:
The streets are all streaming with Portugal Red.
You’d think that the heart of the village had bled,
But no! It’s a river of Portugal Red.
The wine, like the story, has steadily spread;
Our reading is dripping with Portugal Red;
Levira’s the wellspring, the grand fountainhead
Of ruddy and rubicund Portugal Red.
Fly in and mop up what the vintners have shed!
Come soak yourself silly in Portugal Red!
Or if you want sherry, try Jerez instead,
And skip this importunate Portugal Red.