The Dew Drop's Fall

It glistened,

Picking up the light

From the sun.

Splitting the beam

Into its constituent parts

With a natural precision.

The Hadron collider

In miniature,

Creating a grainy spectrum

In the grease from the bacon.

She studied the effect for

Just a split second,

Not that she cared too much,

Her eyes barely focused

On the moment

As she nudged the end of a rainbow

Before wiping her plate clean

With the last of the bread.

It was a dew drop

And hung,

In a state of suspended disbelief,

With a total disregard for gravity,

A liquid stalactite,

That bobbed and bobbled,

Swung and wobbled,

But did not fall,

Until she drank the tea.

She lifted it up

Slowly,

And the surface rippled,

As if in expectation of

An earthquake.

But it was a tremor

Of human proportion,

Even with elbows on the table

And holding the steaming cup

With two arthritic hands

Wrapped tightly around it,

Her nails badly chipped

And broken, edged with

The dirt she scraped

From reclaimed pennies.

She took a sip

Barely a space twixt

Cup and lip

And still the dew drop fell,

For just one moment

Osmosis looked likely

To draw the tea into her nose,

But she sneezed.

A surprisingly neat,

And feminine snort,

A curled finger

Gently touching her septum.

Tears sparked in the corners

Of both eyes

And following a familiar

Furrow,

Channelled down her weathered

Old face,

To a fold of skin beneath her chin,

And bled into the cup.

She still held it up,

Waiting until her

Eyes cleared,

A million shooting stars

In every tear,

And wondered why

She had thought

Never to chase a rainbow,

Swim, naked, in the ocean,

Or sail on a boat.

Instead of collecting scraps

Hoping for a windfall

She might have lived

A different kind of life

And not for the first time

She cried.

This was no time for pride,

It was Election Day

And she was registered.

At least she had

Not lost the right to vote.

And would go back,

Once again,

To the old school

She had gone to as a girl,

And place her cross in the box

She thought would do most good

For all those people

Much worse off than she.

It was the least she could do.

And was thankful she knew

Just where she stood

In the choice between the red and blue.