Friday, June 10, 2011

Finding meaning...


The teapot
wasn’t mine.
It wasn’t anyone’s
Just a teapot
(that wasn’t even
a proper teapot;
FTD had sent an
arrangement of
odd purple blooms
one mother’s day
in it) sitting
on a pile of used pie
tins, Tupperware
cake carriers and
old VHS tapes.
Very alone. Waiting
For purpose beyond
Looking pretty
On its way
To the dump.
We have that
In common,
The teapot and I.
In the wrong shape
Made for something
Completely different
Than we’re used for
Thrown away
Forgotten, in a metal
Box, waiting for someone
pour blazing
Hot liquid into me.

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