TIME TO WAIT.

The shrink would sit
On the other
Side of his desk
And look at you
As if you were
A specimen
In a glass jar.
He’d cough to get
Your attention,
Which had wandered

Off like a child
Seeking a toy
Box or a game
To play. You gazed
At him; took in
His large dark eyes
And hairy brows,
His hooked nose and
Loose mouth. How long
Have you been here

Now with us in
The asylum?
He’d ask (he could
Never ever
Remember how
Long you’d been there)
Leaning toward
You over his
Desk. You didn’t
Reply, just stared

Above his head,
Took in the framed
Certificate
On the wall, the
Neat black writing,
The signature
That was thinly
Scrawled below. You’ve
Not made progress,
Young lady, he’d

Continue while
Picking up his
Pen and twiddling
With it between
Fingers thin, clean
And well scrubbed and
You wondered if
He had made love to
His wife the night
Before and what

Part those fingers
Played and whether
She’d been pleased and
Satisfied or
Whether the earth
Moved for either.
He’d smile a mask,
Raise his eyebrows,
Sit back in his
Black leather chair;

Gaze at you with
That lifted nose
Professional
Air. And so it
Went on, boring
Week after week,
Month after month,
The same routine,
The same oak desk,
The same framed signed

Certificate,
The same odour
And death waiting
For you both, no
Doubt, out there far
Beyond the bright
Blue sky of that
Today, waiting
Patiently, arms
Crossed, foot tapping,
Counting the beats
Of time to take
You both away.