The towel slips a sudden slap

The towel slips, a sudden slap

against the chipped cup’s dull edge.

Threadbare cotton, stained and cracked,

forgotten like the coffee’s cold breath.

It hangs limp, a ragged flag

over the sink’s cluttered rim.

A stubborn brown smear clings, as if

resisting the rinse, the rinse itself grim.

This fray, a quiet insistence—

a shadow caught on worn-out thread.

I see the hours it soaked up, spilled,

a witness to spills that never fled.

Tangled in its faded weave,

a small rebellion, a quiet stain.

The towel falls again with a wet slap—

cleanliness, undone, remains.