The most mundane things are perfect

Like the making of tea.

Dead flower crumple of the tea bag

Scoop the sugar in with the tink-tink of the spoon.

Just add water,

Grains dissolving

Tan color fractalling

Stir again with the tink-tink of the spoon.

Take a sip, smiling over the rim

Set the mug down to form a circle of water droplets

A forgotten mess which will wet your sleeve later.

Alone, quiet.

Pages turn—

A clock ticks.

The most mundane things in life are perfect, and yet

You never see the hero,

Cavalier smile,

Witty repartee

Settling down with the perfect mundanity,

The things as kids we crave.

A house,

Stamped all over with the familiarity of “you”

Making dinner,

Vacuuming

The things we all must face

Head in hands,

Flat tires, taxes

Coffee stands

Connect your hero to you, as if

You could turn the corner and there they’d be,

In line with a cart of groceries.

Not on their way, not impatient

Not bloodstained.

Just being, like us

The thing they lack—

Life, drinking tea

In-between times

When life is perfect and yours

Sitting across from your hero

Drinking tea.