I used to own a number of mugs, used to, please note
but they are gone now
thrown away by me
in quality cricketing way
in debris by the base of a tree
I imagine they’ll be there
in a hundred years from now
maybe being picked up from the jungle floor
examined by a young girl or boy
not yet even thought about
I can’t drink tea now; I shall have to
use my cupped hands to drink water
from the tap; that has the advantage though
in that I get
no insects in the mouth
unlike my containers of filtered water; they
attract insects like a bizarre magnet; maybe
it’s the lime I put in… I
hadn’t thought of that
yes, maybe it’s the lime.
I bought one mug
in a small Chinese shop
it had clear line etchings on it
quite exquisite, like the Chinese tea
I used to take from it; that’s gone too,
along with a Bugs Bunny mug,
a present from my students, oh
ten years back; they - the young people, I mean -
are good at gauging
a teacher’s mentality.
I’ll miss my mugs - I already am - and my tea
- I already am - and to make matters worse
they - the wretched pair of big birds - have refused to disperse
they are still up there
irritating
hooting
annoying me
non-stop, enjoying every minute
high up
in the tree
