Small sips of delightful bitter coffee

Sharpen my gaze on a summer morning

Stories filter through my mind

In an attempt to stretch my patience

Like a well-watered planted near a window

With leaves turning, a crispy brown.

Waiting is a test that I seem to fail at

Ungracefully.

A plan is in motion, they say.

It will happen at the right time, they say.

I exhale like a stuttering old AC vent

Staring at a pigeon hopping along

Then flying away.