'In The Waiting Room I Wait' Or 'Er' Poem by Jay Celador

'In The Waiting Room I Wait'

I'm filling out a questioner
that weeds out the cases less severe
A Baby with a fever, grandma had a seizure
the guy with severed limps for some reason gets top priority
A little Asian woman has a biohazard mask on to protect her from disease
A kid who thinks he lives in an Ed Hopper painting
found to many reasons not to force his skin to bleed

Abstract art of depressing tints and shades
on the white grey walls perpetually it hangs
Everyone fills out forms for their brief moment of fame
The hallways of purgatory and an M.C Escher staircase

The elevator to the morgue, the year old magazines
On the 6th floor is where they keep the MRI machine
'Radiology' 'Neurosurgery' I hope to never learn what they mean
The Chaplin's office is closed, hand sanitizer to keep the hands clean

Death is in the black scrubs reading a clipboard of ill omen and charts
He reaches in his pocket to count change for the snack bar
Buy flowers for your dead, please don't cry that hard
Stop at the shoppette, bright colors like graveyards

Daily cheating nature, the warm hum of various machines
My eyes fall in love with the woman wearing scrubs of green
Disgusting thoughts that invade your mind when you're bored and lonely
Adventures I'll never have in the outside world invade my daydreams
Pieces of flesh in plastic bags after the healer has done the deed

In the waiting room I wait
for my moment in the spotlight
my moment of fame
I need stitches on my face
This past week hasn't been so great