I coughed at the espresso beansflying
at the ceiling
It burned their wings
frozen
They fell to myhead level, 5'3"
I smiled and quoted a poem
written by an unknown publisherof
the Elizabethan time
They ground into bits, the smell antagonizinglyswimming with white
blood cells
into a java mug
sip theliquid
hot
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

WordShredder

Join the Discussion
This article has 1 comment. Post your own!