a slip and fall, busted up face,
an ambulance ride, cute young
docs, a his and her, in a busy ER
always apologizing for causing
any pain, and now again, in
another waiting room for the
specialist surgeon to,
make reperfect what was imperfect
naturally, seasoned and aged,
a face lovely and decanted,
a nice blush, though she looks now
a fresh mugging victim
and here I am, thinking about
all the waiting rooms in a long
life that I’ve called home, a temporal
temple abode, for waiting, praying
and now surmising and now, even for
composing
let’s not talk of bland, pastel colors
way past the over limit of blandness,
acoustic tile ceilings water stained,
and “leatherette” furniture,
that no else ever wanted in their
life, all sent off to die in the classical,
traditional rooms for waiting
births, deaths, diagnoses, verdicts
delivered, way stops on a traveling
life
