Poetry

Caper's Poets

The Blue Mug — Robert Phelps

That blue mug.

You drank only from that mug
Your morning coffee.
You called it your ‘lucky mug.’

Habitually, every morning, you
Wrapped the slender fingers of both your hands in an
Embrace of the brew, of the day,

Of your life with me. As real as
The heat of the coffee.
Every day.
Every day the blue mug.
Your coffee.
Your life.

I had forgotten about that damned mug,
Now sitting alone and blue
In the back of the cupboard.

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Filed under: Issue 3, Robert Phelps,

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