So many wait in the sickly light
the morning long
in the stale air stirred by creaking fans
to be ushered in to the bright
clean-cut doctor’s consulting room
for a minute and sent off satisfied,
clutching a prescription for pills.
*
Cheap smart shoes worn matt by use
tap at the disinfected concrete floor.
Muscled limbs flex and stretch,
decked out in the kits of La Liga or Serie A,
and plastic bling.
Gray moustaches trimmed to indicate deference
to convention pout in taciturn disapproval.
Ironed floral skirts are smoothed out over varicose veins
by Parkinsonian hands.
Photo by Andrik Langfield on Unsplash
Powerful evocation of the despair of waiting in line
camouflaged death with costuming, emptiness disguised courtesy of waiting lines and belonging by imitation – I like your poem.
Thank you, Liz. You found something in there I hadn’t noticed consciously.
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