WAITING
Emergency rooms have the same smell
They are sterile with a hint of dew in the narrow corridors
In some pockets, there is a robust musk from the decaying souls
Each scent colonized by pestilence
Here, we are connected with an intimate friend
Subtly
Fully
Slithering into the cracks of faux leather chairs
And foul toilet seats
The festering microbes villainous, and without refrain
Waiting rooms are spaces where
The spectrum of visibility is uncertain
except by the harsh LEDs
or the florescent lights
that radiate into the depths of our iris
Forcing some people to stay alert
This is the place that we wait for our beloved
Interrupted from our late-night shifts
From our football game
From the shenanigans at the neighborhood bar
We are flooded by distractions until
We sit through an endless bray of the latest news cycle:
War in the Middle East; will there ever be peace?
All my sons and the telenovela that never ends
This is a place occupied by
One-night stands
Fleeting friendships
Dysfunctional families
People who still have not figured out how to care
For themselves
We glare at unsettled ghosts and ghosts yet to come
Hoping that the chamber of death will not create a new trauma
Marking the past by a newfound loss
When the anonymous banter has exhausted us
And our despair has turned into grief
We know that our time is done
And there is no simple remedy
Contributed by
Edna Bonhomme
https://www.ednabonhomme.com/