Waiting RoomA Poem by Rebecca LeighFor anyone who hates waiting for the doctor.Waiting Room From the stylized-industrial light fixtures, which emitted migrain-inducing flourescents, to the monochromatic,green, bamboo carpet that was sprawled against the floorway, it was clear it was a room for those who wait. The jet black water cooler taunts me from the corner of my eye. sitting as a permanent staple, how it mocks. It is broken... There will be no water today. Meanwhile elevator jazz decends from Speakers which morphed and appear as heat vents. I peer around the room, an elderly man holding a cane coughs, but is stifled by a doctor paper mask. He knows something I dont... Time ticks on... My appointment was fifteen minutes ago, More infections, and ailments enter the room. A woman sitting kiddie corner from where the older man had sat, wore a matching mask, A cherade of the ill, And I an ignorant outcast. I begin to tap my foot against the floor, in a steady percussion, as my patience begins to wean. Another is taken back behind the overbearing chestnut door. My hunger grows, and my stomach snarls and growls. Damned blood-test fasting I fantasize devouring a Kind bar my friend was so kind as to give me earlier that day< It resides in the depths of my black purse. Ten more are taken for their appointments, (Most of whome arrived after me.) To the recesses behind the tiny vertical window within the giant door. 25 minutes I have sat in wait, Im done with this s**t! I just want a piece of food: Food and Sleep! © 2014 Rebecca LeighReviews
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2 Reviews Added on January 12, 2014 Last Updated on January 12, 2014 Author
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