The world is a waiting room
where we wait for the end
there is no ending to all the endings
the reception desk is located near the exit
in case of a fire
while the doctors sit in the back
arched over their notepads.

The waiting room is getting crowded
as the mosh pit inside
infects one another
jockeying for position
like horses racing to their stall.

The waiting room is getting hotter
from clients with essential oils
and patients with black lung
the air conditioning works overtime
eventually breaking
leaving us overheating—suffocating.

Sitting, staring into space
waiting in the flatline
watching decay repay
our waiting room ways
the building starts crumbling like a glacier
while we wait for its weight to fall upon us.