you rise out like a fish
a  very lazy fish
out of its muddy, lukewarm hole.

among the falling snow
outside your window
as you wait for your coffee
there  is a nice little bluejay
that you’re conflicted about.

you’re waiting and thinking
and  thinking
and  waiting
and knowing what must have been
and what should have been
what is

the bluejay
is still there
and the hum of sour, rich beans grinding
has turned into a stagnant and abrupt hanging
in the wake of an aroma caused by
what you have waited for all this time
there  is only  a calm

of course,
it is not much
it is not the good stuff
it is what you drink every morning
of  every day
that you decide to make coffee
in this place of decisions
you can often forget,

you  have somehow fallen in charge.