Broken Glass

I broke a glass today.
How many is that now?
Five or six in a lifetime.
A momentous event —
Portending what significance?
Fate or mere weariness?

I saw it go, felt it leave my hand,
Then watched it arc gracefully
To shatter on the tiled floor.
Ah well. A broken glass.
Time for patience with broom and mop.
Good thing it wasn't a mirror.

It wasn't crystal, wasn't old,
Wasn't part of a set,
Wasn't even mine.
But, still, that moment when
The glass reached towards its end
Is etched in memory.