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Waiting Room

Bloated, domesticated attendants breeze through
doors wheezing behind.
A muffled phone rings twice
You look toward the window blind
imagining the sound of the slats
knocking together in the wind
if there was one.

You wait ten, twenty, thirty minutes
mentally create the invoice for your time lost
Who lost it? Is it lost?
Yes, it is flowing away
in the last drops of rain on a car window
joining together, flowing down
and slipping into the window crack.

 
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Posted by on March 24, 2019 in My poems

 

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