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May 2023
As I wait for my name
to be called, it starts
to rain. Slowly,

stuttering at first
but then a downpour,
thick grey sheets

hammering onto the windows,
as though the whole building
is being peppered

with paintballs. A woman no older
than me enters, her coat slippery
with the sky's remains,

blue umbrella like
a dishevelled animal. The receptionist
says 'you poor thing.'

I wonder how many times
she'll say that today. The doctor
asks for me. He's running late.
Written: May 2023.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page and Instagram page can be found on my HP home page.
Reece AJ Chambers
Written by
Reece AJ Chambers  30/M/Northamptonshire, England
(30/M/Northamptonshire, England)   
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