A Poem by Thomas John Nudi
I sit opposite my window each day
waiting for you, like a bad movie,
as I mockingly draw inspiration, making
an analogy out of the bird who landed on
the tree limb, right next to my pane.
I sit, still and patience finds me somehow
as I keep myself from thinking how stupid
I must look sitting miles away, leaned on
the window ledge. If it was raining I would
think of The Cat in the Hat and wait more.
I think of Koch's evidence of love, I scoff.
When will you come back to me, I wonder.
When I realize I haven't spoken in three days,
that my jaw has become content? I do not
want, and it will not do. I cannot.
And here, I've sat and waited
and I could wait days more, I'm patient.