Waiting Room, II

I’ve been meaning to come back, y’know.
But my plates were full and
even having waitressed all through college
I felt like I couldn’t carry much more,
couldn’t pause to examine one closely.

I did make it there once, recently.
It was an hour earlier than before
and when leaving I saw a shape, sitting
a black blob I was too afraid to turn towards,
to see.

I hope you’re okay.

---

Something of a follow-up, to this previous poem.

Waiting Room

You sit three seats away from mine
And neither of us look to the side.
Our movements mirror each other -
Jackets off, bending over to open bags,
Juggling personal possessions that we shed
after the cold outside.

And I almost giggle, feeling the space between
us open up like we’re on either side of a bed.
The silence makes our synchronised movement
stand out,
and my misreading of our waiting preparations
making this space feel personal, like we know
each other.

I hope you’re okay.

---

A moment, October 2019.