Thursday, July 26, 2007

Destruction, and the ability of the world to continue.

It is morning, around ten.
My pot of tea
Sits unassumingly next to my cup
and saucer.

A sugar cube rests
on my saucer,
sparkling like the sand
on a perfect beach.

I drop it into my cup.
It sits,

Lifting my pot of tea
and tipping it
I release a maelstrom of heat
and wet
wiping the sugar cube away
leaving brown tea.
sweet brown tea.

The steam rises
from the brown tea,
and the news
comes on CBC.

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One Poem and One Day At A Time

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