Brewster (for flamebrawler and Rose Silverpen!)
A/N: I have Writer's Block, so I wasn't too fulfilled with this one. I hope the next poems are a bit deeper...
The Roost is empty tonight
And I've grown quite alone
With a million more glasses to clean
My bow tie's still tight
(A looser one, I don't own)
And the cafe's a rather quaint scene
Closing time isn't near
But still no one drops by
A slow song on the radio softly plays
Though the words aren't clear
And the singer is shy
I can still tell it's about "one of those days"
Mugs and teacups clang and ching
As I set them to rest on the rack
They smell of a gentle and light soap
It's always this time I start wondering:
What is it, really, that I lack?
And if for anything, what is it for I hope?
This town is tired, and I am too
Each day is peaceful but slow
Is this really the place I should be?
Oh, but there's nothing this pigeon could do
There's nowhere else I'd want to go
(Why do I let such thoughts haunt me?)
I like it here, though, with my tight tie and cleaning rag
With my glasses that chime and that change
With this radio that is still playing its slow song
It's slow here, but it's never a drag
And right here, I have everything
Right here, right now: I am right where I belong
