Waiting Room

It is possible to pass a whole life
like this, half-harkening,
perusing a backlog of Vanity Fair.

It is possible to hang on the turn
of a knob without wanting
the thing on the door's other side.

You could grow old here, your sight
skating the eights that ivy up
the wallpaper while reruns run.

It is possible to pass years waiting,
unyearning, and never to start
at a voice announcing your name.

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Copyright © 2022 Jane Zwart All rights reserved
from The Southern Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission