Just Sit

I pour a large cup
of bitter coffee. I go
sit in the living room,
pull out this computer,
and I write after I sit for a bit.
Sip the coffee now and then;
mostly, I just sit.

Sitting is the aspect of living
I enjoy the most, hate the most,
am spending the most time in.
Sometimes a cat sits with me;
mostly, I just sit alone.

Turn on the radio
and don’t groove along
to any song, really, at all.
If I recognize anyone
I’m happy for a second, then I go back
to sitting, alone, in my worn chair;
I mostly just sit.

The window behind me
holds back the cars, the wind
and the rain, the definite articles
that pin down this earth to a case study
(and there are people who prefer it)
they can review, and study, and ponder
like it matters that you think of it,
think of anything at all; mostly,
though, I just sit.

Sitting is what I do
and sitting is the most I can do,
the least I can do. Mostly
I just sit, and think, pet the cat,
drink coffee, sit some more.

I’d get up and do something else
but what is there to do anyway
that will change this world
the way I want? After all

I am a cripple in despair,
I am a hero waiting for my chance,
I am temporarily snapped to a mold;
you can accept it, say “there, there…”
and pat my head, shake yours
as you turn from me, just sitting there,
a permanently lonely memory perhaps;

but really, I’m just sitting here with my coffee,
my cat on my lap.
and this whole damnable,
lovable world surging behind
my tightly shut eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T