The glass half full

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.

Jeff Rich

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