left on the table,
day after day
meal upon meal....
the curry so hot
it dropped off the fork
into a pool of neon
yellow lava
the little rivulet of magenta
Syrah--a point too vehemently
made on election night
the splotch of cream cheese
from the New York bagels
Tom went out to get on the Sunday
morning the dog got loose,
and ran into the highway
grinning like an idiot,
the screech of brakes, panting,
the cursing driver,
hearts all beating
like rock and roll drums.
The dot of blue ink
from the morning Sudoku,
leached through the fragile
newsprint, the faulty pen,
the faulty logic--
given up after the indelible
error in the middle box.
The spirit of place mats
left on the table
day after day
meal upon meal,
slowly losing their memories
to washer, sunlight and rain.
Note: todays prompt was to write about a celebration. This is a poem about celebrating the quotidian, the commonplace, even the stains!
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