Poem: Reflections over A Glass of Room Temperature Water

Reflections over A Glass of Room Temperature Water

Nothing that can be drank here is cold
and we have no ice either.  I am hot,
have been sitting in the heat,
and nothing cold is waiting.
I should have prepared,
should have taken steps:
placed water in a glass,
loaded it into the cave of my fridge,
but I did nothing.  I knew.
I did nothing though.
Perhaps it was my intent
to have a reason
I could complain.

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