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Glasses
The glass is crystal, clear and bright
Its stem a classy sweeping line
The subtle cuts reflect blue light
No fingerprints to mar its shine
Six perfect clones upon the table
Mahogany beneath them glows
Best china settings, each with label
And into perfect glass, wine flows
With one brief taste the spell is broken
The wine is corked, its flavour sour
Though looks are shared no word is spoken
Save statements of how late the hour
At last, alone, the charges fly
The look is all, does flavour matter?
The glass misplaced - distracted eye
And, falling to the floor, it shatters.
The glass is simple, plain and cheap
A thin raised line says 'mass produced'
Its stem is thick, the scratches deep
An easy target, oft traduced
A single pair sits on this table
Ancient spoons and plated willows
The whole supplied from basic stable
A tumbler holds a lone red rose
But this wine's taste is one to savour
Floral, fruity, oaked and mellow
Smooth and cool, it bursts with flavour
Shines from within a golden yellow
Our talk and laughs flow as the wine
Free and fresh, clear and true
Our lives entwining like the vine
Seen through the glass, rose-tinted view
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Synopsis
This poem was inspired by Nikki asking for a glass of wine. My thoughts turned to the glasses in the cupboard that I would be fetching it in. How they were simple, cheap glasses given to us by my Mum - nothing special - the sort thousands of people must own. I thought how I'd like to be able to bring her the wine in one of the smart, modern, crystal glasses that I'd had in my previous home. The glasses that were now locked behind the doors of a protracted divorce. Smooth, clean lines. Glass that rung sweetly when tapped.
All at once, I realised that what was important was not the vessel but the contents. Nikki would still enjoy the wine despite its being served in a cheap glass. And then this realisation expanded to include our home, and even our whole lives. It matters not one jot what the vessel for our lives was - a small flat, a terraced house, a mansion. What is important is the content of that life. How it is lived, how much love there is in it - the flavour of it. Just like the wine.