topping off

a man sips from his plastic cup,
immediately topping off his
pouring out a measure from his can
for every sip by his lips.
he’s a full glass kind of man;
always with enough in the tank
to replenish whatever he takes.
when his can empties,
he swishes it after every sip;
tilting it east and west
as though he might
one more pour
to replenish
what he continues to sip,
twisting the plastic cup
in the twinkling sunshine
until his gingerale is gone
and the can
fits inside
the shorter
plastic cup.

the sun shines on long
after the man teeters
his way up on the train
to toss away
the reminder
that he went through
what was for a while
while the rocky mountains
came into view
and he thought whatever he was
probably, “this tastes good.”
never did he think
i was typing
a poem about him.

written on 04/14/2015 by: Matt Kane