The Scald

The moment,

The heat, the burn,

Yet left too long,

The mild, tepid, milky dishwater,

Cold, spoiled, wet, nothingness,

Tea, teasing, temperature,

The scald,

Warming the lungs as it follows its path,


Hitting the stomach,

Gulped too soon,

Mouth, lips kissing the fragile china mug,

Cold lips, yet holding molten lava,

Steam, tea, burn,

The scald.

Great Big Mug of Goo

I asked my friend “describe me”,

“Don’t limit any words”,

I thought the task was easy,

She thought, I guess, absurd,

So when she did revert to me,

Describing me as such,

I read the words and tutted,

It simply is too much,

For I ‘m now a mug of chocolate,

Poured on the coldest day,

I’m swirled around with cream,

In an arty fancy way,

On top there are marshmallows,

With sprinkles added too,

It seems that to my friend,

I am a great big mug of goo,

But I thought about it longer,

I believe she may be right,

Something that can warm you,

Give you courage for the fight,

So though this mug is mucky,

With oozing down the side,

I am that mug of cocoa,

Glad she had not lied.