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By: Francisco Vega


I can sit in this chair here and hear the birds chirping outside 

Their voices ring through the house

So, I stay in my chair for a while.

It almost feels as if they’re putting on a concert for me

Like young Sinatra’s,

Each and every single one of them.

And yet I know that their song is not for me. 

It is for their lovers. 

I am simply intruding on their mating calls.

Do I have a right to do that still?

While he lays on the kitchen floor,

His blood filling the gaps between the tiles.

Yes of course I do. 

It’s what he would’ve wanted.