The Waiting Room Poem by Peter Madden

i sit in the waiting room...
my train is late and night is falling...
and darkness covers the world outside..
reflections of the room fill the window panes...
scenes of time passing by...
wasted moments lost while waiting in that room...

my train is late...

the room is hot and stuffy...
smells of musty carpet and wet dog linger...
people come and go trying not to catch each others gaze....
using the false distractions of watches and phones...
and hiding behind their books and magazines...
ignoring each other as time ticks mercessly away...

my train is late...

i watch them come and go in the mirror of the windows...
detached silent reflections of lost time...
sitting and standing like souls at the gates of hell...
while the tannoy apologises in unconvincing tones...
the excuses served in cold inhuman voices...

my train is late..

i let my gaze fall upon my own reflection...
and see myself but its not me i see...
for im not alone im sitting beside another...
im smiling and the woman at my side smiles back...
our children play together and i look happy....
while we wait...

my train is late...

i gaze around the room but nothings changed...
im still alone surrounded by distant strangers...
the room still smells of dampness and old paint...
i still sit on my bench waiting by myself...
being ignored by my fellow travellers..
but in the window my family that could have been waits to...

my train is late...

i recognise the woman in the other waiting room...
part of my past forgotten untill now...
a stark reminder of the choices i made..
how much of my life have i wasted...
waiting in that room...
and the family in the window wait with me....

the train to that life long since departed...