The old thing was
Pretty banged up
The inside of her lip
Was scarred and chipped
And you could see she’d
Been handled over the years
But I hadn’t gotten
Lead poisoning yet
And it’d been nearly
Thirty years since I first
Made her acquaintance
I always liked the way
She felt in my hand
More like a cup
Than a mug
Not that I’m saying
She was delicate
Or girlie
No
She could hold her own
And did so without
Comment or protest
She was still on the job
The day of the accident
Falling victim to a moment of
Careless abandon on my part
I thought a little bit of
My heart was gonna’
Break after
I kneeled over her
Shattered body and swore
I’d put her back together
Knowing full well that even if
I could do that
It would never be the same
Between us
Knowing that I meant well
But that soon enough the guilt
Would drift in as I’d find myself
Gripping a mug that proclaims
“Don’t bother me
I’m having a sexual fantasy”
Which will surprise no one
Soon I’ll have to settle
For sleek curves and the
Predictable uniformity
Of your modern substitute
Replacing the little
Imperfections
That made my
Hippy cup
Irreplaceable
So it’s last call
And one last
Tortured aria
Before I place
The remains in
The graveyard
Of cobwebs
Dark shapes and
Rusting metal
That is the ‘fixit’ area
Of my workbench
Right next to the busted lamp
And the dead electric drill
Here my hippy cup will
Grow dusty waiting for
The hands of Justice to
Return and make it all better
