“Time is the school in which we learn.”  -Joan Didion

The waiting room attendant
is bright, chipper
relentless as an alarm clock.
The room itself
is filled
with soft muzak
and soap opera dialog
competing to be white noise
but at least they cover
the florescent hum.

I sip elderly, burnt coffee
without really tasting it
as I recite
silent prayers and promises
to learn the lessons of patience.


This is linked to dVerse Poets Pub open link night.


29 thoughts on “Waiting

  1. I like your description of the coffee as “elderly.” Put a definite taste to it that just calling it “old” wouldn’t have done. Waiting can be so hard, but God does use it to teach us patience, which I’m told is a virtue. Peace, Linda

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thanks for getting me on the “right” side of my bronco, Mary. This little poem hits the human mark of borderline chaos midst the recycled accordion music in a doctor/dentist/social worker’s waiting room. THE WAITING ROOM, existentially is a metaphor for purgatory. I like the line /I sip elderly, burnt coffee/.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Yes, this kind of waiting is draining and what strikes me most is how accurately you capture the wish do be distracted by anything, even the florescent, from the other feelings one feels in this kind of a room.
    Hope the outcome was good…

    Liked by 1 person

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