Thermos routine

Pulled it from the cupboard, the old thermos.

Scuffed silver, a small dent near the base

from when it rolled off the counter, nearly.

The metallic scent inside, a faint trace

of stale coffee, even after the last wash.

It holds heat, though, that's what matters.

I poured the dark brew in, heard the slosh,

the little plastic stopper, already chattering.

Then the cap, screwing on, a solid clink,

a final, firm seal against the cold.

It’s just a thing. But in its quiet clink,

a small constant, something to hold

against the day, its certain, reliable weight.