you are not very bright.
I watch as you delicately follow
your brothers on a journey
from the rim of a wine glass
into the apple cider vinegar.
Even the sight of your siblings
(lifeless in what might be urine)
does not deter you.
I say a mantra for your demise
but I won't miss you and the cloud
greeting me at the fruit bowl
on an autumn evening, as I fix
myself a tasty dinner, maybe crack
open a bottle of white.