Waiting Room Poem by Donal Mahoney

First time seeing this doctor,
a specialist. Took a month
to get an appointment.
The waiting room's packed.
I grab the last seat
next to a lady in a wheelchair
knitting something,
perhaps for a grandchild.

I pull out my cell phone
like everyone else
but just to check messages,
not into games.
No one's looking at magazines,
it seems, any more.
It's a cell phone world,
messages and Tic-Tac-Toe.

Half an hour later the lady
stops knitting and whispers,
"Sit back and relax, son.
Life's a waiting room.
We all have appointments.
Every name is called.
Even those who believe
no doctor is in.'