Waiting Poem by Richard Sockett

I'm sitting here waiting for my Son
Hoping that his battle with depression has been won
Seconds seem like minutes and minutes seem like hours
Nothing much to look at here, apart from a bunch of flowers
Lounging on a comfy sofa I could just fall asleep
Waiting for the end to come to lift me out of boredom deep
Much like the time when my Son watches the birds
Exciting for him but for me, twitchers are just a bunch of nerds
I listen to the clock and its rhythmic tick and tock
Counting down the minutes until its time to roll and rock
Finally he has finished his cosy little chat
Time to battle through the traffic, for another week, that's that
Next week another poem will rattle through my brain
How many more could be written by commuters waiting for a train?