THE WINDOW.

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.