Ode to the Waiting Room

Here is the room where time gives up.

The magazines from 2019 fan out

like a deck of cards no one ever shuffles.

A television plays a morning show

where everyone is very worried about something.

But I am not worried.

I am waiting.

And there is a specific grace in waiting,

a permission slip the universe hands you

when the world goes on without you for a while.

The fish tank hums.

Somebody's name is called.

I take one more breath,

one more sip of terrible coffee,

and return to the magnificent nothing.