Tin shell

October 26, 2009
The sugary brown liquid waits inside a small metal chamber.
It doesn’t know that its cell is red, and sitting in the fridge
Waiting to refresh any thirsty mouth that came near.
All it knows in its confinement is that its small cell is packed
Not only by itself, but also by some packed air
Ready to be set free and dissolve into the air outside.
The red metal can is puffed and solid,
Withstanding any falls and bumps.
The fridge door opens with a squeak and a hand appears.
It grabs the can of coke and closes the door
The liquid and air knows the end is near.
The warm air in the kitchen is blistering to the drink.
It sweats, cold droplets of water dripping down its body.
The hand grasps the coke in a firm restraint
And pulls back the looped tab.
A crack from the broken metal, a hiss from the air inside the can.
“Freedom!” these noises seem to proclaim
As the cold brown coke rushes up, bubbling, through the opening.
The hand places the coke on a table
And waits for the bubbles to fizzle away.
Now the coke is stagnant
Except for a popping bubble or two.
Its short life is over, its metal form just another disposable body.

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Paig3Cagl3 said...
Nov. 10, 2009 at 2:43 pm
This poem has great flow and insight.
I really enjoyed it.
Lovely poem darling =]
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XxThe Whole Time You Were Talking I Didnt Hear A Single Word You Said B/C Th3 Whole Time You Were Talking I Was Picturing You DeadXx
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