the waiting room
another gathering another
procession we sit
and talk politely
of the good old days
the missing
children
survivors
we keep our voices down
spirits up humbly
pass the packet drinks
around reminiscences
we wander
in the wake
i remember her back
that sudden evening i was
struck and thought wow
the bow that bend
the light her eyes
fluorescent
reflecting off
the photo now
lying in every
intention unkind and bitter
thought
bedding behind defenses
when our attention
elsewhere
we are lead
in fear
in despair fresh in
the shampoo in our hair
in the early morning air
my heart overflows with sludge
chokes everything up its path
42 flashes
i suppose my number's next
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