Alone,
among the various tenants
in a creaky, cream cabinet,
you hibernate all summer
a decimated warrior
waiting to make your annual debut
on the first fall morning.

Surrounded by stirrers and sugars,
K-cups and creamers,
you are pushed and prodded,
cracked and chipped
until the brew is ready
to slither into your imperfect ceramic.

You meet horrid breath
and pull untimely all-nighters,
working from the crack of dawn
’til the clock chimes twelve.
And during your breaks,
you are run through the ringer.
Your delicate paint blasted
by jets of scalding water,
Your insides devoured by soapy chemicals.

Only you,
tempest of teacups, could last those weary days
and continue to provide greedy mortals
with eternal energy and tinted teeth,
counting down the days
’til tea and cocoa are no more,
and you will be forgotten.

And then there is scalding sunlight,
chirping birds and icy lattes,
sweaty days with blistery sunburns
and cool crisp A/C
A summer solstice brings plastic cups,
spawning Starbucks
and industrial ice machines.

You are no longer needed
on the 4 a.m. commute,
and so you are placed back in your lonely nook,
dusty, neglected, and tucked away.
Your chipped dignity and crackled coat
waiting for praise once more
when fall comes knocking back at your door.