Garden Coffee

My windows do not like to open.
They hiss and moan begging to be left alone
in their old wooden frames.
So I sit in my backyard.
The place Billy said one should be
if you were to hear my words.
Tapping notebook with Pelikan
I watch as school children visit
the large windows and metal columns
of a newly built elder library
and wonder if the downtown fair will wake me
in confusion forgetting which day it is
thinking of which council member I can write
to explain my backyard is not proper location for a fair.
The children are pointing at stowed rides
detailing the order in which each one will be ridden.
I discard my complaints
of missed mid-morning slumber
and think back on summer nights
of burlap bag slides and funnel cakes
lit by neon and orange glows
when you your giant.
I have decided my coffee tastes better inside.