Maybe there was a poem waiting in the empty barstool
but I missed the opportunity to hear it whisper itself in my ear
because I was too busy making myself cower in the corner
wishing I hadn’t skipped out the day life
was suppose to teach me how to start a conversation
and I ended up with a double dose of awkwardly shy
so the back table and the corner is my usual nesting hole
and silence is my most constant companion
and it really is quite comfortable
and there isn’t anything to complain about
I don’t get lonely very often
unless I’m stuck in a crowd of small talk
I’ve grown rather found of being alone
and the endless hours of solitude it provides
and I have had a rather good life
and it’s still has some road left to it
and friends and love
have been an intricate part of the journey so far
with more of both than maybe I deserved
but still every now and then
there is a new pair of eyes
and a kind voice and a smile behind a counter
that makes me wonder if I couldn’t do something more
than write fictional love poems to imaginary girls
and women who don’t exist
and the barstool is still empty
and I can hear a kind voice
and picture the eyes that spin wildly above a gentle smile
but then again maybe it’s all just an illusion
and the whole scene is made up
by my companion of silence
in the hours of solitude I seem to be so fond of