Among the Broken Ones

3. Waiting For A Metaphor

I could drink a thousand cups of coffee
waiting for a metaphor
and sit by the window
while staring at the moon.

Patiently, I wait
for it arrives unannounced
like that stray cat on
the fence peeking
on our backyard.

I‘ll begin to notice my unkept hair
and how a girl liked it that way once
for a metaphor comes dishevelled
and poets like it that way too.

Then I‘ll start humming a love song
and pretend that I can sing
for a metaphor likes to pretend
like broken hearts on february fourteen.

Until I feel sleepy
curse that caffeine--- no use
It could be a good metaphor
for right moments we dont
actually choose.

Until I no longer understand
what I was waiting for
and begin to feel unsure
of where it is,
when it has come,
or who I am,
and what I have become.

That‘s when I realize
that the waiting
is finally done.