For the Son of Slam Round 6 - when every room is a waiting room...
|Your heart attacked makes ticking sounds...
a clock, a watch, the spokes on bikes
and countdown bombs in movies.
and a screeching silence.
Every room is a waiting room
because there is no other task to execute.
I listen to coffee in Styrofoam cups,
and drink outdated Time,
and study hummings
only heard in hospitals.
The hours carry certain dire doctors making
dour declarations: It doesn’t look good.
In between announcements,
I wonder at the battle and the blood,
at every tug of war between the instant
and the eon.
Then there is no more waiting,
and no room where I belong.
I push past
and down a hollow hall
to see if it looks good,
of my father’s fight unfair.