This Poem can be found at:
Paul Andrew Russell . com
Stumble into the kitchen, bleary-eyed. Luckily
I filled the kettle before I went to bed last night;
it’s the little breaks that matter
first thing in the morning.
Flick the switch,
go to the bathroom,
put in eye drops,
stand with eyes closed,
balance isn’t what it used to be. Good
job it’s only for a minute
or else I’d be asleep again.
Bleary eyed once more,
shuffle back into the kitchen.
Two mugs from the cupboard,
one spoon of sugar and coffee
in the first, a teabag in the second. The ting
of metal on ceramic as spoon escapes my grasp.
Shuffle a couple of steps to the fridge,
door squeaks as it swings open,
grab milk, a splash in each mug. Door
squeaks as it closes again.
Kettle switches off.
Pour water over teabag,
leave second mug for later,
wait a minute
or thereabouts. Remove
teabag, burn fingertips again,
curse, drop it in garbage can.
A poor way for an Englishman to
make a cup of tea;
I’m a tea philistine at six-thirty
in the morning, no time for connoisseurs.
No one around to witness my beverage crime.
Walk into the living room,
sit on the couch, take a sip of
the elixir of (old man’s) life,
sigh, stare into space.
Try to reconcile the pain of morning
with the joy of not dying in my sleep;
Or is it the joy of morning and the pain
of not dying in my sleep?
~ Paul Andrew Russell
(This poem was selected by Eileen T O'Neill. She is currently one of our contributors and poets found here at Poets United. If you would like to learn more about Eileen or read some of her own poetry you can visit her blog "Words and Thoughts". Eileen is a poet and writer who has been a wonderful supporter of Poets United since its start. We would like to thank her for all of her hard work.)