Boys Don't Cry

bitter teardrops dance
on the brim of my coffee cup
as steam greets my lips

my bloodstone has cracked
leaving the kitchen floor soaked
with sickly crimson liqueur

sitting at the kitchen table
I notice my cat
his fur grey and white, he's called Thomas
head stuck in a bowl of kibble

I could of called him Kinkade
after the poet of the same name
but he was named by my youngest son

he's named after that train...

bittersweet coffee stirred
with a tarnished silver spoon
animatronic motions, shroud
the shadows in my blue eyes

so big boys do...cry