Ode to Orange Juice

I stand alone against a backdrop of broken rubble,

A ruby red liquid vanishing with every bubble.

I wonder to myself what I did to deserve such trouble,

Wishing my life had been that much more admirable.



I look across at my broken home,

And gaze in amazement as the pieces begin to roam,

Clasping together like a horse to a soam,

This beautiful combination of foam and chrome.



I feel my body pulling together and raising from the floor,

My aches and pains are vanishing and limbs are no longer sore.

I rise to the table with its legs now a set of four,

And watch as the empty frame recombines with the broken door.



I sense the touch of Chrome and glass,

And smell the smell of freshly cut grass,

As I become a liquid mass,

And from the air to glass I pass.



The bright white light that once disturbed my dreams,

Begins to withdraw from the room in beams,

Taking with it the sound of shattered screams,

Allowing the world to be free of broken seams.



I sit upright feeling bold and proud,

And watch as the deadly mushroom cloud,

Retracts from the stare of the advancing crowd,

Returning the lives of those it ploughed.



I hear the sound of a retreating plane,

And the cheers of a city no longer in twain,

The heavy horn of a smoky train,

And the pitter-patter of summer rain.



I listen closely for a key in the door,

Waiting for footsteps to sweep the floor,

And I watch as they advance just like before,

Only this time a hand reaches forward ready to pour.



I await the gentle filling sound,

Of plastic and orange juice compound,

As it and I become rebound,

To once again feel profound.



I see a face with a gentle yawn,

Who wishes he hadn't got up this morn,

But little does he know of a brand new dawn,

Where mistakes and tears become withdrawn.



I settle myself as the lights go out,

Contented at surviving a terrible rout.