Fourteen Signs.
Fourteen signs hang arrayed.
Upon the walls
Of this small and dismal waiting room.
They do not include the word "please".
They make statements, demands,
silently bark their authority.
The signs vary in construction.
Plastic plates, laminates.
One hand-scribbled and stuck across
A redundant sign that is now old and
Hanging precariously off the wall.
A shadowy human presence lurks.
Anonymous behind frosted glass.
A rack of listless leaflets droop
with age and the periodic change from
Cold to warmth. They cover one alcove
Like forlorn patients standing with heads
Bowed as if they have received news
Of desperate content. Drab chairs,
Dull lights, grey and grungy carpet.
The only pleasant thing here
Is the way out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem