Bone china, tiny in my palm,
Hand-painted roses, bubble-gum pink,
The snappable handle in my fingers,
I’m lifting steaming Rooibos to drink.
The first sip has the sour tang of
Craft beer over salt and vinegar chips.
Aluminum under my fingers now,
Greasy from salty dips.
Dreaming of teacups turned beer cans,
The meaning is clear,
Stay away from fragile pretentions
And hold onto the things you find dear.
