A clear plastic glass, less than half full,
Reminiscent of a Dutch still life,
Goes unnoticed in the crush of morning mayhem.
It sits on the sidewalk edge
As though left unfinished by a restaurant patron
Who joined the rushing maelstrom, competing
To reach an unseen, but exulted position before the sacred gates close.
The glass, unaware of Mercury’s race,
Waited undisturbed in a universe removed
From Monday morning with no life expectancy
And no place to go.
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