Ode to the Teabag

A popular opinion,
in my industry and beyond,
states the teabag holds dust:
and tastes of dirt from the pond.
A poisonous pouch,
microplastics and bleach,
yet I must ask you hearken,
I've something to teach.

The old style teabags,
all plastic or staples,
are now half-extinct,
soon to be merely fables.
We now have the tech,
the know-how and care,
to craft pouches purely
of corn and of air.

But why, Friday, why? Why would I choose bagged?
When loose leaf's the option on which you've most bragged?

Why, you ask, why? What cause could you have?
To sing now the praises of tea in a bag?

While loose leaf is love,
as you know I beleaf,
some days are too hard
for the dishwashing grief.
My preschooler gave me,
with his kisses and hugs,
the nastiest, snottiest,
most miserable of bugs.

There's no use today,
I can't manage the will,
to fuss with a strainer
while feeling so ill.
My beautiful gongfu:
tomorrow, with luck.
For today? I'm well stocked
with my teabags, thank fuck!

xoxo, Friday 🤧😷