under a shaky fan

sitting cross-legged in a green booth
under a shaky ceiling fan that might fall
back to the idea of words on the page
in happiness in rage rising to the top
of this bottomless cup of bitter coffee
would rather drink tap water
no matter what is in it
sitting cross-legged until the knees
start to ache then feet onto the floor
carpet of pins and needles
right through shoes just like that
wearing a long sleeve shirt
wearing out on the elbows
he can feel the cold sticky table under
pushing the pen everyday wishing
for a day when it will push back
hair under thinking hat
staring off into the night
probably thinking about someone
who would never sit across the table
legs crossed again understand the ramble
from one end of the day to the other
next minute up and out the door
on a mission impossible to describe
with words in detail
left to the imagination
if there is any left
swimming in indecision
confusion...