His Poise
Look at who is next to you,
how he sits there
Like coffee being poured
from the pot—who are you?
What is he doing,
as he sits there in his head.
It makes me wonder,
all the time. Have you ever
noticed me thinking about you?
No—when he looks over at me.
When he blinks his eyes,
that is how he shows he cares
like a bird flapping his wings.
He never had had a chance.
The wind will take your
ashes one day—dust
of your soul will float on,
I’ll find someone else to look at
As his thoughts soar on
to another great mind out there
his death will be a shame,
and he will be greatly missed
he’ll never be able to fly until
he breaks through his shell.
Until then, he’ll sit there,
wearing his plaid shirt over his chest.
His tight black jeans
and slick black boots on his feet.
Sitting there and thinking
and blinking.
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