I spill the coffee in my lap,
across from me, the TV slaps
a clip of men with
guns strapped to their backs.
The mob screams and claps;
they slur,
but the coffee’s so hot my
vision blurs —
a disgrace.
My mistake.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe
I spill the coffee in my lap,
across from me, the TV slaps
a clip of men with
guns strapped to their backs.
The mob screams and claps;
they slur,
but the coffee’s so hot my
vision blurs —
a disgrace.
My mistake.
© 2016 Stellular Scribe
