The Waiting Room
There is faint laughter in the other room
burrowing through crackling silence
faint laughter in the other room
begging curiosity to sign my papers
an old man crosses his legs
holding an unlit pipe in his teeth
the tie he wares with dignity
his hair although faint combed with care
time has carved totems on his face
tweed blazer a teasing dust jacket
shoes canvas catafalques shuffle anonymity
gracefully from the wars to the battles
there is faint laughter in the other room
and the old man is concerned
with the Yucca in the alcove
that towers like a sentry in ceremonial pose
his long fingers that ache to prod the soil
once danced over keyboards in blackout revelry
danced over trembling petticoats
thrust the smokey billiard cue
planted and twisted the rusty bayonet
we have our day and he his
there is faint laughter
and my pockets are full of notes
jotted down by my stubby rough hands
in youthful explorations
there is faint laughter
that seems to cram eternity into a shoebox
seems to sprout the river source
turns days upon days months upon years
the laughter stops
and the old man goes in.
published in Gold Dust Magazine, March 2006