An empty seat,
All alone in the corner.
Wishing, wanting to be filled.
Yearning for that familiar feeling.
The familiar feeling of being loved.
You know that they wont be coming to breakfast this time.
That chair has spun for the last time.
Just like a retired jersey,
That chair’s days are done.
It will remain alone for the rest of its days.
Until, one day, a new one walks in.
Walks right over to the seat.
And is about to sit down.
You get up.
Fearing for the worst, you tell the stranger that swivel seat’s history.
He stands tall as a sequoia, and in a big southern accent says:
“I. Don’t. Care.”
About to sit down again, I hit him.
Hit him in the nose.
I smiled.

That day, I learned how to fight.
He learned how to run.