Wednesday, 14 March 2012

Tea Time by Bobby Stevenson


It sits neglected, as it always has,
In several passings of
The moon.
All it wanted
To make it perfect
Was a teaspoon of sugar and
A slurp of milk – but they never came.
And as the water sat in the
Cup losing its heat
And its will,
So the drinker failed to show.
Perhaps they’d stepped in front of a bus and never looked.
Or intentionally jumped to quicken the pace.
Perhaps they clutched their chest with buckled knees in some shopping hall,as they clung to life and the stupid kid who grinned down at them.
Perhaps they drove to have some secret hour in a cheap motel next to the sea with a lover who pressed too hard.
Or perhaps the tea was made to greet the man you should have been on the day of your return.
- or maybe the cup of tea was never poured for anyone at all.

1 comment:

  1. I would love this more if it were about coffee, though how you have managed to make me feel sad with a poem about a cup of tea is down to your genius
    Nonny :)

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