On a chair
on a sidewalk
wide with hope
for today
a bird sits,
waits,
contemplative
and content.
Crisp air,
rain a recent memory
lingering in the hearts
and minds
of the passers-by
and also in the spirit
of the bird,
a shadow cast
under gray skies.
Arabica aroma --
the shop brews
a cup, maybe
two, of fresh ideas
and superlatives
with every sip,
many today focused
on the winged guest.
A student,
a poet,
a worker
and a fighter --
all file by,
careful not to
disrupt
our bird's stay.
The occasional
quick glance is cast
downward,
but no more attention --
nay, no more
love
is sent
the bird's way.
It is not
flightless;
wings folded,
nothing hindering
a quick escape,
but our bird remains
every ticking hour,
waiting for another,
the other
to swoop in and
stay awhile...
... another
never shows.
But,
our bird
remains.
