where the writers are
new year's monkey

Waiting Room, Mercy Hospital

Visiting hours are about to begin.
We all smell the same -- like vinegar,
coffee and rotten bananas, like sadness
held for a long time. The man
in the corner nods over his brown

paperbag. In an hour, a nurse will tell
him again to leave. Along the wall,

a girl on a boy's lap hooks her fingers
through his belt loops, he caresses
her ears; they moan and weep about
Markie. A blessing, an old woman
in a housecoat says as she opens
the door to the street.  Someone
has gotten better or she has given
up. A blessing, she says, as rain
slams into the sidewalk. When
the door closes again I can hear
myself  breath. Behind me, someone
whispers on their cell, I'll be there,
stop it already.

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Glad to see you

at Red Room, Christine!

The ending to your poem made the follicles on my arms react.  


Cheryl Snell www.shivasarms.blogspot.com