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.