Your gentle yawn
while reading the sports section
as they fill your prescription.
A light scratch of your nose
as you read the review of the
newest hippest band out of L.A.
while your new tires are installed.
Waiting is the dullness of a brown sparrow
flitting to the next wire,
the line of ants on a tree trunk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem