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WAITING
Our waiting resembles a long road through the desert
travelled at night
with a radio voice for company
reporting an insufferable heat surrounding us
and we become resigned
that it is only matter of time,
that we must only wait
and a cure will be found,
the laundry will dry,
snow will melt
and headlights in the driveway
will signal the arrival of our loved ones.
Meanwhile, we wait
for the phone call from the hospital,
for the mail to arrive
and for the newscaster to clear his throat.
Our waiting is like the expiration date
on perishable items in the cold case
which we shall buy at half price
when the moment comes;
it is like the slow passage
of a freight train
when the barriers are down
and motors are idling.
Our waiting is the gradual descent
of an unidentified object
through searchlight beams combing
the sky, and nobody believed we saw what we saw
the witness claims
before drowning in static.
We are waiting for the final episode
of a reality show
broadcast from our very own homes,
for the commercial break,
for an end to the drought
so we can drink the fear
that collects in our mouths.
We are waiting for the Messiah
whose face has appeared
on post office notice boards,
for investments
to mature,
for the download to complete
and for the applause to die down.
Our waiting is a string of worry beads,
the last cigarette
and the blindfold,
the overtime in a tied game.
We wait for boarding to begin
when the clouds finally clear
and a light breaks through to illuminate
a long anticipated evil. A triangle lit up the night
the voice announces,
and our waiting resembles that too;
lit up the night
and moved slowly away.
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