To the Man Across the Runway

You’re not much of a philosopher

Old, cynical man

Awashed in petty sorrow in form of drink

Words spoken past hour I wait for the new

You’re not much of a talent

Cynical, old man

Years wasted at the edge, waiting

waiting for that one line

waiting for that one call

waiting for that one life

Like naiad

Like Aswang

I avoid you

Cynical, old man