Magic Coffee Cup

Magic Coffee Cup ~

There was some strange hanging glob-

on the side of my left handle,

making my coffee mug drip,

out its sides, and let loose its dark, smooth liquid-

until it fell into my lap-

Via spiraling rivulets,

that oozed between my legs and underneath the wet patch. 

I turned the cup around in my hands idly-

Ignoring my job, for the umpteenth time that day,

before I heard an unexpected voice. 

and looked down into my lap sharply. 

'Work, work, work, sighed the cup,

that's all I ever do these days,

nobody ever gives a damn about how hard I labor-

Only these coffee creams, and messy oils.' 

Well,

I couldn't find a thing to say to the mug,

So I placed it back over the counter, gently,

and tried very hard not to move it-

Pushing all of my papers and items back . . . 

to keep it in an uncluttered place, high upon the topmost shelf,

so that nothing and no one would threaten-

And then stood back. 

To critically monitor the viewpoint-

So well . . .

It didn't speak again that day to me, 

Or in any of the days pass by us, 

But from that moment,

I knew that my cup was a friend, 

And decided that from then on that I would stir it, but once, when I made coffee . . . 

So that it would retain its keen abilities. 

And I never complained at work after that, 

Because there was magic in those office walls.

And often wondered if my employer knew, that-

The cutlery in the pantry, for the hired staff,

was working in consistent overtime . . .

Jacking up the paycheck.