Window Table Chair

I watch for him through the window,

and huddle myself over the table.

Perch my anger on the edge of the chair

and each passing minute is a window into his head.

I try to table my disappointment;

nestle down in my chair and wait.

When do I draw the curtains

and stack my emotions on the table?

When do I leave my chair vacant?

When do I stop playing this game

of windows, tables and chairs?

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