For my post tonight, a poem I wrote a couple of years ago, prompted by Wallace Stevens’ “Anecdote of a Jar.” I hope you like it.
The glass half full
I took a glass and placed it there
Lone and harsh in the optimistic air
And they cried out, do not cry,
Cassandra, it is a half full glass you spy.
I wince and squint but do not see
Any liquid but glass before me.
So I declare, the glass half full right there
Is only filled with dry hot air.
Its sides are cracked.
Its lip is chipped.
Its base unwashed
Attracts insects to feed.
But my truth was scorned,
So, to the poor shadows I returned.
copyright (do I need to say this?)