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Sommelier
by Eric Miller

The sommelier
wouldn’t go away,
instead he hovered over me
trying to sell me some Viognier.

I glared at him with rosť eyes
and told him to stop telling lies
and putting on a one man show
about wines he didn’t seem to know.

But being a sycophantic fool
and  trying to act so very cool,
he fawned and fawned
while I yawned and yawned
in a stalemate with no end.

Finally, I switched my gears
stood and grabbed his ears
and whispered a single word
very precisely to be heard.

“I don’t understand,” he said
a bit perplexed and turning red.
“I don’t want to create an ugly scene
but what does that word really mean?”

“But you are a sommelier,” I replied.
“You should have concluded
from that to which I alluded
that it is the wine I’d like to taste,
so get it for me, please make haste”

“We haven’t got it oh kind sir,”
he said with an obsequious purr.
“Is there no other varietal choice?,”
he asked with a breaking voice

“Que sera sera,” I replied
and that’s when the Syrah arrived.