Watching, waiting, hungry

Some days
you just have to sit there,
watching the patterns swirl around you,
waiting for life to settle down again.
Some days
you're lucky,
and the chair is shiny and comfortable.

Other days
the chair will sag,
or smell,
or be a little tipsy:
you'll find yourself
looking for a matchbook,
not knowing whether to prop up one leg
or just to ignite the whole damn thing
and burn it to the ground.
This is how it is
when you're looking for a place
to hang your hat;
for a place where you might get fed.


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