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the waiting room
I sit thinking of swans
Pale white feathers like the color of pearls
resting on transparent water
weightless and steady
calm.
Beethoven interrupts my thoughts
letting my solitude disperse.
Blase thoughts fill my mind.
strange how impatience
won through so much inhuman calm.
I wait.
A stained fan drones on.
It's so monotonous the room could be in flight.
I stare at a mirror seeing nothing
but the reflection of a pale barred window.
a faint antiseptic smell breaks my silence
for we who wait do not converse.
we who wait do not even look.
The t.v. blares some inane show
eyes vacant of any direction,
veiled prayer the television.
the hourglass still full
the clock still ticking,
I close my eyes
and think of swans.
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