Bitterness

A single mug of coffee
steams from the table
the smell of morning drifting through
an empty household.

A lonely soul sips the bitterness
of the day ahead
scowls at the bite, then smiles,
for something has prickled his ears.

The mug reflects a distorted desk,
a small lamp, laptop,
a cell phone ringing all too infrequently,
friendships sliding down the table,
through the floor,
into the very body of the Earth
where they can be easily forgotten,
ignored, vilified ...

We can dance on the graves
of our memories
until sooner or later the pipes burst
and worlds once separated--
by cold metal words
fences or righteousness, glory,
or conflict or peace--
flow together as one
to carve out the rock
into the pattern of our lives.

A single cup of now-cold coffee
lingers, lonely on the table,
for an alert and bright mind
has left the building,
and dropped into the fleeing river
the distorted desk and computer,
in a world made slightly less bitter.