adventures in dysthymia

Thursday, July 07, 2005

HALF-FULL

I drank from the half-full glass
until it was empty, utterly
empty, and my asking
no longer refilled it.

No, not half-way, not even
a quarter -- whatever pitcher
held our future had been carried
to some other table

where some other couple
drank deeply and thanked
a tired waitress.

Stephen Brooke ©2005

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