waiting rooms


we positioned ourselves in another waiting room
a stack of magazines on a chair
a book with a magic marker that would reveal puzzle answers
my contribution
but I’d lost interest.

I’d found myself
back towards a quiet television
examining the walls

The hung art was dull enough that
the groves in an exposed brick wall were more interesting.

as I ran my hands over the brick
my mind wandered to memories of my grandfather
standing in front of me in our living room

I’d been set on a high chair
with a red barbers apron around my neck
ogling the monster or hero he’d brought with him

tricking me
(though he need not truly have done so)
to consider only the possibilities of a world
where monsters could be vanquished
with the swing of a sword
and nothing so insidious as time
or disease
could ever enter the tale.


One thought on “waiting rooms

  1. Thank you for this wonderful memory of your grandfather and my father. He and grandma loved you very much.

    This poem brings me to tears as I remember, too.

    Thank you!


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