Waiting, waiting, waiting room
Hope they’ll come to see you soon
Crumpled souls perched on the edge of hope.

One false move and you fall into despair, without the wit to do anything about it.
Weeks sat by a bed. Bright, colourful plastic cheeriness. Looking into deadened eyes.

Waiting, waiting, waiting room

Do you want to be back soon?

Smiling faces on the television screens taunting you with memories of the normal world.

Wooden birds and tissue paper seahorses tell their own story of woe. Set sail upon the smooth floor – it’s cleaned seven times a day.

Waiting, waiting, waiting soon

Can you hear screaming in the other room?
Can you fry an egg on the tiny kitchen? Seven years without a payrise, so the scorn is no surprise. Ten pounds on the clock and counting.

Waiting, waiting, hating room. Waiting shaking medical hues.

Waiting, waiting, waiting room

Hope you don’t come back here soon

Copyright John de Gruyther 2016


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