• Tiny, Little
    Squares of White.
    Just sitting there.
    On my table, there.
    Unpretentious, and bright.

    What modern things,
    Which conveniences
    Would be lost,
    If not for having

    We overlook it,
    Every day.
    Spill it,
    Abuse it
    In every way.

    But once,
    Not too long back,
    They would trade
    For Salt by the bag.

    Now it sits,
    So misunderstood.
    So unbeloved,
    Yet clear and bright,
    As Table Salt should.