Gravity's on more than usual today
and the tile is unforgiving to the gawky limbs in my shoulder sockets
that keep dropping my favorite shit.
My fucking flower mug.
My flower mug, with the two-finger handle.
With the hazelnut and vanilla and almond and Columbian dark dark roast.
With the "goodmorning" and "hows life?"
"Fine."
Lifey, isn't it?
And I'll be peeling super glue off my fingers for days
even though I know it won't hold what it's meant to anymore
(Who does?)
Maybe it'll start a penny collection someday.
(Who knows?)
And I'll wait in a silence with which I'm well-acquainted.
I know
if you break it, you buy it,
but I'm broke.