Red Cup Reverberations

I shouted something stupid —

not a joke, just sharp and loud,

a broken glass thrown

into the lull of low chatter.

A red cup tipped, the beer

sloshed slow across the scratched table.

Heads turned, smiles cracked like the light

in that instant — the room caught fire

and I was the one who threw the match.

Someone laughed, leaned in closer,

faces split open like old wounds,

and I swelled with the buzz,

holding tight that careless sound

that flared bright in the quiet.

Now it hums in my chest—

a reckless pulse I can’t quite chase

or forget.