Sitting in the waiting room
I see the people kneel.
From their knees they pray
for sins they have concealed.
Their brothers and sisters,
and mothers and fathers,
and daughters and sons,
grandsons and grandaughters,
grandparents too
and they look with their
puppy dog eyes
right at you.

Sitting in the waiting room
I see the people squeam
when bad news bursts from
doctors mouths. “This is only
a dream,” they say,
Vocalizing how their hearts
have burst and will
keep
sinking
and
sinking
and
sinking
until
the
day
they
die.

Sitting in the waiting room
I realize that I do not care.
For the dozens of people
in here, or the patients in there.
For the brothers and sisters,
and mothers and fathers,
and daughters and sons,
grandsons and grandaughters,
grandparents either.
I can’t help but be here,
only for you.
Only
for
you
and
me.