mute, dumb, the fan whirrs
sweeping first left, then right,
all around the waiting room,
seeing all, doing nothing,
from its perch on the wall.
chairs, mostly full
with faces furrowed deep
by worry, sorrow, fear.
in one, yesterday’s newspaper,
half- unread, like yesterday’s bride.
just beyond, the triage--
with the presiding nurse
in pristine white, oozing
professional empathy
and tight-fitting oomph.
anxious eyes peering
through the slit curtain
into the emergency room…
was that my dad crying in pain
or the guy with the broken leg?
inside that curtained cubicle
men in masks
squeezing life out
like one does a near-empty
tube of toothpaste.
silent, violent, sobs
from the son and daughter.
was that their uncle
who lends them his shoulder?
maybe, just maybe, the doc was wrong?
from that perch up on the wall,
the fan keeps whirring,
seeing all, doing nothing
sweeping first left, then right
is that fan god?