The Waiting Room

Downcast faces

Of all races and creeds

Sit and wait their turn.

Silent whispering

Curious glances snatched for a moment-

What is her story? Her ordeal?

No one dares to ask.

I zoom in on one

 nursing a bland, tasteless coffee

Staring off into space

As her husband burrows into the free newspaper

He picked up in the lobby, in anticipation

Of a long, exhausting wait.

Young, well dressed, but tired, still hopeful

That the wait will come to its blissful end

No more probing medical instruments

Arms filled with joy

The universe raining smiles

Silencing the wagging tongues

Taking her rightful place.

 

The End

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