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If My Coffee Mug Could Speak - By Hedwig

March 27, 2017

This is the tenth poem in a series of poems that explore what the commonplace objects in a student’s life would say if they underwent an Enid Blyton-esque change overnight, and could speak.

Long before my white had faded,

A simpler time when I was not yet jaded,

When my shining armour had not been traded

For a duller hue of motley grey;

A time when my insides weren’t streaked with black,

And when I sat snug and safe on a rack,

My torso gleaming with no cracks,

Until I was whisked away;

To a faraway land of unknown adventure

Where I met other coffee mugs – some with dentures,

Some with coats of peasant red,

And others of sterling silver,

Where my days began at the crack of dawn

And I’d find myself seated on the lawn

Filled to the brim to keep away yawns,

My contents easily quiver;

For I tell them of the tales of yore

Of my father and forefathers and their folklore

Of how they bore beverages until sore –

I must adjust my monocle here,

For no matter the rust and wear and tear

On this battered body, for want of care,

I shall dutifully serve until my share

Is done, and the dumpster awaits near.