Watering Weeds

A column of cocoa
encased in a cup
waiting for someone
to sip it all up.

The cup we don't swallow
yet, were it not there,
to get at the cocoa
we'd be licking the chair.

Because of the spoon,
the soup travels through space
and finds its way safely
to a hole in our face.

MORAL: Just because
it looks non-essential,
that doesn't mean
it's a weed.

poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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