The Waiting Room (And The Train)
Two clocks, both wrong in different ways.
Four chairs, equally uncomfortable.
A plant that thrives despite neglect.
A man who coughs precisely every seven minutes.
Life here is punctual,
but not on time.
Through the window:
a train appears,
disappears,
reappears
like a magician who refuses applause.
We hold our tickets,
fold them once,
fold them twice.
We nod at strangers
who look suspiciously like ourselves.
The waiting continues.
So does the wallpaper.
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