If I could I would
piece together the shattered glass of this half empty cup:
with powers like Superman I'd fly fast as infinity
reverse the rotation of the earth
change the course of historical events,
and perhaps breathe freezing cold on all my opponents.
A slow motion shot of fragments levitating off kitchen floor,
gasps of shock turning back to smiles or frowns
my slippery grip sliding back into a firm handshake.
Liquid and sticky mess slops its way back up my cupboard,
and as if gravity turned Einstein upside down,
meets the cup at the moment of implosion
at the very moment that my hand slipped.
At this moment I realize that counter tops have mass and strength:
as Atlas holding up the earth, as Hercules sweeping shit out of the stables.
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