"Surreal"

An empty can of coke
stands defiant
amidst a table
full of cigarette butts
like a sergeant
commanding a platoon
of battle-weary soldiers
to stand their ground
as a bottle of vodka
hovers overhead
in the eleven o’clock
blackness of the night.

Soon…

This glass will be empty
like the soul of a curbside poet
searching for words
inside a trashbin
only to find the grime
of a treacherous world.

And with every single word
added to these lines,
the ashtray choked
and told the poet to stop.

Stop.