Appearances Kept Up

Dare call me unclean:
I'm the sunniest burden
back home on the farm.

I will have you know
my snout has graced porcelain:
broken cups thrown down

into the red clay;
I snuffled them out with ease,
know style when it's seen.

Like the turquoise here,
the way it blends with yellow
from the August sun,

that's the same colour
as the farmer's old saucers,
hauled from the sixties.

He would have pooled out
his brew into the hallow,
letting it cool down,

knowing that increased
surface area can allow
more heat to escape;

then, with a big sluuuurp,
he'd drain the saucer, much like
myself at the trough.

Appearances Kept Up

I can't understand
why they make the tea so damn
hot in the first place.

Now, I'm the tea bag.
Some said the sea would turn brown
from my muddy brine.

But look: as clearly
as the young can see the teat,
I'm seen. I'm no mug.