I am reminded of a poem I wrote last year while waiting late in the day to talk with the surgeon after a loved ones surgery.
The Waiting Room
families
a real intergenerational room
teens text
babies whimper
grandmas sit and stare
inter-racial too
all colors of skin
from pale to dark brown to black
some leave
some come back
some leave again
But I stay
times passes
sent to another waiting room
cold
late
people in scrubs
walk in
walk out
walk in again
take people away
I wait...
the last one
the day is long
but the news is good
the day is long
but the news is good
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