tea time

[kim.mcarthur]

The teapot in my hand offers
warmth and comfort. I tip it
and the tea flows out and as it pours into
the cup the sound budges out through the liquid
causing me to recoil and I am instantly battered
with pretentious, fake, unknowing sneers, cast
down eyes and shrugged off appeals for sight.
This sound, plssssslnk, so vulgar starch and pink.
The echo of humiliation is magnified within my lungs.
My shoulders round and my head drops down.
How many hundreds of years, into how many millions of cups,
has this sickening voice wind-bagged for its pourer?