Cups, Cups, Cups

a lone plastic
cup clinks
change, tips.
A yellow cup
half empty, is thrown
to the floor
and is stamped on,
crunches into glittering dust.
Two forlorn cups,
cracked and stained,
dodge scrambling
hands,
but come to their fate:
the garbage.
On a fireplace mantle,
blue and burgundy cups
sit with gently
arranged flowers and leaves.
Another set! This
time a shocking red
hoping to catch a buyer's
eye.
A book club of
coffee cups
chatter
meaningless, nonsensical
One, two, three, four
rows of pale
green cups
stretch in small regiments
before a party. .
Confused ants shimmy
up the side of one.
Stumbling out of line,
the cup twitches, dancing
madly
to get them off, off.
Magic!! With a snap and
clap, fifteen cups turn
to thirty. "And cup number
forty-seven
has the ball! He's taking it
down the field! He's
at the ten! The five!
The two!
Teadown! Cup forty-
seven has just scored
a teadown!"
yells a sports announcer.