dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: waiting room

She sat like the blurred words
Of a popsicle stick joke as
The cold blue
Of the waiting room
Dripped from her thoughts
To her hands
Until the seconds stuck to each other
Like the pages of her magazine,
Shining sideways
In a puddle on the floor.
And the hard hairbrush carpet,
Already grown into her soles,
Pricked both feet mercilessly
While she
Remembered summer
Disposably sweet.

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