Window Frame
Perched,
On a window frame,
9th floor,
Lexington Ave,
New York City;
People watching,
Looking for some,
Inspiration,
Maybe I’ll write,
Something worthwhile,
For a change.
But no one,
Caught my eye,
They were all just,
Tiny little ants,
Avoiding drowning,
With every rain drop,
That struck,
That dirty city street.
I wonder if,
Any of them,
Could see me,
Perched on that,
9th floor,
Window frame?
My figure,
Blurred by droplets,
Morphing my face,
Were my eyes,
Visible?
I wonder what,
They thought,
When they looked up,
To see a young woman,
Perched on,
A window frame?
Maybe they thought,
I was planning on jumping,
Maybe they muttered,
“What a freak”,
Under their breath,
And went on with their lives.
Maybe they didn’t see me,
Afterall,
A ghost again,
It’s a mystery,
I’m a mystery,
I’ll just keep drinking my tea.
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