The Seat Near My Window.

I sat alone in the quiet for a long time.
I sat alone in that chair for a long time.
The book at my feet, the cup there as well.
My window is the sun.

Cold tea.
Warm sun.

A pen lay in the crease of the book.
Small rivers of ink winding through vowels and punctuation.
Leaves on the sill telling me that winter comes soon.
Small birds saying things that I hate to hear.

Goodbye.
So long for now.

How long will you stay?
How much longer for you?

But they don’t know anything.
They can’t pay bills online, they can’t answer a phone.
Their small beaks could never over match my thumb.
They have no idea about a micro chip.

Would they want to?
Never. Never. Never.