PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There aren't any eggs in the fridge.
plenty of bacon.
its not the same bacon, without eggs.
or onions.
I look across the table...
I dont even want to bother.
it wont taste the same.
its sunday and I'm the only one
hugging a brewed cup.
You ignored my peace offering,
it's still on the counter by the sink.
coffee in the cup I bought for you
after that last big fight.
You were in my face
and squashed me
within a inch of fatal respectability.
mouthing off words that tore
from under me my fickle security;
Cold and biting and sickeningly sweet
like a paper cut through my veneer
We both know the truth stings
as any skinned appendage.
I look at the cup...
A sign of your trials and fool's tribulations
one eloquent fucker came up with it
and made millions on a coffee cup
a peace offering from the start.
It irks me... It usually cheers you up.
I've never refused a peace offering brought in a coffee cup.
I read the words in your absence.
stunned by the cold cavalier edge to your drill.
its not the same. its not the same.
white cup with a pink band and bright red dainty words...
red... appropriate colour.
So much regret, love and care went into making that cup of coffee...
Painful rejection. A rejection for the history of this old coffee cup
the bright red words screaming at me again...
Speach marks standing for thoughts wrapped around its face like the slap you gave mine.
walking out the door, cup ignored.
I look at it in my line of sight;
I hug my cup more for the warmth I'm needing from the cold heartless affront.
Its different this time. Its not the same, its not the same,
its bad this time. there's no going back, its not the same.
The wheels squeeling as you took off were adamant this time.
It irks me the cup taunting me.
I am naked of respect.
Aching cold and abandoned.
I think about the graphics on the cups; mine reads "Thinking... please wait!"
The loathsome cup on the counter reads "From now on, we'll FUCK things up MY way..."
The door swings open and slams shut
the eggs are slammed on the table
pan pulled out of the cupboard.
the fuck up cup taken in hand you drank,
focused and on cracking eggs not looking at me in the eye
With an attack as vicious as it is forgiving you ask:
"So, how do you fucking want your fucking eggs?"
I smile. "Fucking Over-easy". I grab the bacon. He grabs me.