half a sonnet - an ode to my water bottle that keeps falling over

That tall metal shard should stand tall, and yet

it quivers like a fricking dog which stands

In an earthquake that it will soon forget.

Both scream for rescue from the sinking sands.

Then down! The shard, it twirls, it drops. It fails

to float, falls short of the white swan; she can die

with grace, why can’t it stay up? And not trail

on the floor, crash like dropped cymbals, I cry.