The Waiting Room. Poem by Steve Caine

The Waiting Room

Inconsequential magazines full of cars and TV screens,
mobile phones and lifestyle choice,
waiting here with my quiet voice.

The chrome is warm in the grip of fear,
as no one sees me sitting here.
Heart beating in no mans land,
time has simply stopped,
my life's on hold for ten more minutes,
until the bombshells dropped.

The corridor seems very long as I travel slowly through,
following the Bow Tie with answers stored for you.
Another chair before me, covered in words I never use,
he tells me the reasons I am here,
and what I'm about to lose.
It could be this it could be that,
take a look and see!
Showing me the photograph of what's inside of me.

Folding up the Polaroid now heavy in my hand.
I sit and smile in Roulette thoughts,
not knowing where to bet,
placing chips on Red and Black,
Odd and Even too,
Covering every base trying not to lose.

It span it span some twenty times,
In the ten minutes my life stopped,
landing on the zero, in Red and Black it dropped!

I looked back at the Bow Tie,
and thanked him for the spin,
he shook my hand politely congratulating me on my win.

My winnings in my pocket,
I got up from the chair,
walked into the waiting room with other players there,
some will win, some will lose, others never spin.
The rest of us will sit at home with our TV screens,
wrapped up in cars, mobile phones, and inconsequential magazines.