The Glass Had Had It’s Fill …

Clattered with Ice, Cool liquid Within. Lifted high and set back Down here, there and everywhere.Sometimes handled with care, a raised pinky! Often handled by inexperienced hands, covered in whatever sweet stuff by little hands and nibbled on with tiny teeth. Dunked in bubbly water and rinsed with scolding heat, it is at this point it finally meets defeat.

Left to dry on a rack, by a window, up high. A warm breeze flows through and replenishes. The child drives his bike around the space on the floor of his imaginary track, he loses control and crashes into the side, vibrations run right through the cabinet, the glass shivers, it tumbles, it topples, it falls.

It feels no pain as it bumps off of the window ledge, takes a spin, and begins the long decent. It is a short contact with the concrete, followed by the splicing of every atom within. Some travelling far (in the paw of some random animal unlucky enough to step upon it) or within the rubber of someone’s shoe, some not so far, falling into a gutter and swept away into the sewers, or to be swept up by the street cleaner with the rest of the trash. Every piece has its moment of truth, every piece has its chance to shine, glisten in the sunlight and be a star.

But is it fate that one piece ends up in the Penthouse apartment, attached to a fine lady’s shoe? And another ends up in some old man’s left buttock, as he stumbles and falls in his drunken stupor? The latter has least chance of being discovered, but given the choice is that where this piece would choose to be?


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