The Ice Tea Glass

By Jim

I wish they left me on the shelf in the shade. I was in the fourth row; might not have been used all day. Then they put this brown stuff in me. The ice cube is all right. Oh no, more ice. I’m sweating. Look, a drop or two running down the side. Every time the lady takes a drink, they pour more in me. Yuck!

Finally she’s leaving. The workers pick me up and dump all the stuff out. They put me in this real hot soapy water. When they are not busy, one of them will stick me on that brush with all the bristles. Then into the cold, clear water. Then on the pad to dry. If they have time, I’ll go back on the shelf, where I should be.

August 2014

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