A Red Solo Cup

IMG_0263In the morning

I stoop down to pick up

A red Solo cup

Discarded the night before

Strewn haphazardly about the yard

Like many of its brothers

From the party next door

 

Ants inspect the rim

While others drown

In the orange liquid remains

What was contained within?

Did the person who drank it even know?

Was it enjoyed responsibly?

It seems unlikely

 

Has it led to regret

For the one who consumed it?

Or perhaps for another?

A victim of seizing the day

Yet another careless moment?

In a young life filled with many

Or maybe a first taste of liberty?

 

The cup offers no other answers

As it sits in the sun

Abandoned by its owner

No longer needed and forgotten

Waiting for another to take responsibility

The short weekend is almost over

The long semester has just begun

A Fresh Hell

Good evening everyone.

I know that many of you stop by on Tuesdays checking for a new update.  Rest assured that I’ve been working on a few new topics, but lately I’ve been plagued by sleeplessness due, in part, to reconstructive work being done in the basement of the house where I live.  It’s hard to be too analytical when you don’t sleep well.  Anyway, while desperately accumulating sleep debt last night, I wrote the following poem.  I hope you find it interesting, but don’t worry…political commentary will be returning soon.

A Fresh Hell

I lie awake for hours
The Sounds of whirring machinery
Buzzing in my ears
I tiptoe down the stairs
Seeking cause of this disturbance
In the far corners of the basement
Devices hum unwatched
They bear the warning
“Do not shut off!”
I retreat to my bed
Uncertain from where these noises come
The hours tick by
Whirring never ceasing
Eyes wide in torment
The clock strikes three
A fresh hell