Poetry
Felix Thursday
Patience
Death is inevitable, but we keep the appointments.
We are never late, but we must always wait--
along with the others who are terminally unlucky.
By now we are familiar with all of the distractions:
bibles and jig-saw puzzles, and messy stacks of magazines.
Health and travel magazines. TIme magazine. Life magazine.
With the subscriber's names blocked out at the bottom.
We don't look at the magazines.
Sometimes we see a baby, and we smile sadly.
I've never seen the man take such an interest in babies.
He goes out of his way to approach them, now.
They are both pink and hairless.
But we don't look at the magazines.
We sit across from the faces that we see every week,
and we will never see again.
We fold our arms and wait.
We are here to keep the appointments, that's all.
