This is the drink of the steppes,
drink of the Siberian wastelands,
drink of the docks of Minsk.
Not a soft western shandy,
not a sweet childs tipple,
not a hide-the-flavour drink.
"Gee that's great!" he says
wiping the crust of sugar
from his lip with a thumb.
I nod and smile politely
thankful I'm not American,
or quite so frightfully dumb...