My Blue Mug.
You sit there,
Upside down beside the sink
Draining.
A dribble of stale water,
imbued with left-over lunch, grease,
soap, slides secretly
over blue porcelain
leaving an unseen trail of lies.
Yet to my friends
you appear clean, bright, fun
who wouldn’t choose you
to hold their favourite drink,
Lapsang, Ceylon, Earl-Grey.
Columbian, Kenyan,
Brazilian blends,
who wouldn’t choose you?
You were a welcome gift.
A firm favourite.
But you soured the milk,
scorched the tongue,
tainted the tea,
embittered the coffee.
Still your blue porcelain shines,
But should one turn you over
Look inside –
They will see the stains.
The fine hair line cracks.
The rings of grime.
Once I loved you.
Now you are no longer mine.
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