Feet of Clay

Staring at the table
knotty woodgrain
harsh blue stain.
Glare of sunlight on
reflected hurt.
Or perhaps it was the tears.

Another cup of tea?
Leaves, read the leaves
from the burst teabag.
Is there a future here?
A future where no one hears?

His reign was ended.
No longer an issue,
no worship at his altar.
He was washed up.
Golden calf shattered
Fatted calf slaughtered.
Sacrifice, one quick cut.

Photos shredded
they flutter
confetti from the 12th floor.