That pronoun nonsense,
I’m choosing, it, this and that,
and it writes haiku.
I’m two in the queue,
and still holding on the line;
I am number two.
I am killing time,
it has had it in for me,
and enough’s enough.
I see reflections,
of myself in my coffee,
but I look younger.
People sit around,
some watch, some eat, and some wait,
I’m doing all three.
Birds fly over head,
as the sun breaks through the clouds,
and their shadows fall.
That first coffee sip,
is not much, but packs much taste,
meaning I’m awake.
