Today at work I dropped a glass
a quiet gasp
followed shortly by the shrill crash of glass on ceramic tile.
As I look at the mess I, myself, made
I saw myself.
Perhaps due to the fact I'm a hopeless romantic with the acute ability to personify everything I touch.
Perhaps because I know that I, too, am a mess.
As I stood swearing under my breath about the cost of the glass and the possibility of management's wrath.
The shards of glass thrown across the floor in a pool of melted ice, and what remained of some dark soda pulled song lyrics into my head

"Why can't a glass speak for its contents"

Because the glass is empty
The glass is simply a vessel.
Am I then a vessel as well?
I hope not.
I hope not.
I swept the glass
and the thoughts
Into a dust pan
And
Threw them away