I wasn't paying attention to the date

I wasn't paying attention to the date,

just leaning over the steam of the black coffee,

thinking about the things I forgot to do yesterday.

I poured the white stream in and watched

with a slow, sinking horror as it didn't blend.

It bloomed into sour, chunky clouds,

white islands floating in a dark, bitter sea.

It smelled like a wet basement and old mistakes.

I watched the curdled ring cling to the side

of my favorite chipped mug,

and I realized I should have known better

than to trust something that looked so clean on the outside.