THE WINDOW
As we grow old together, I am
constantly aware
that you do not like me,
you never did, and you are only here
for food
and a blanket.
We park you in front of the window so
you can
sit and look out,
but that's not what you want to do.
You want to be a fisherman or an
aviator,
and I cannot let you have both-for, out
of fear of flying,
I have found myself yearning for my
foot on
the soft earth.
I have found myself waiting for you to
come
to me in the dark of the night, your
footfalls
on the wood,
but yet you never come. You never
please me.
Yet you are always watching, gazing out
the window
as if deep in thought.
