waiting -- 07 october 2005
sitting in an uncomfortable chair
i flip through magazines
waiting.
someone find me a doctor,
a nurse, an intern;
someone to tell me what's wrong,
to give me a prognosis.
but don't make me sit here
waiting.
run some tests, look at charts,
tap my knee and take my pulse,
draw my blood, make me piss,
check my ears, eyes and throat.
so long as i'm not still here
waiting.
will i live or will i die?
should i lie down and take two pills
or sit down and compose my will?
give it to me straight, doc
tell me how long i have to live.
cause even dying is better
than
waiting.
i flip through magazines
waiting.
someone find me a doctor,
a nurse, an intern;
someone to tell me what's wrong,
to give me a prognosis.
but don't make me sit here
waiting.
run some tests, look at charts,
tap my knee and take my pulse,
draw my blood, make me piss,
check my ears, eyes and throat.
so long as i'm not still here
waiting.
will i live or will i die?
should i lie down and take two pills
or sit down and compose my will?
give it to me straight, doc
tell me how long i have to live.
cause even dying is better
than
waiting.
posted by scøüpe at 11:37 PM
4 Comments:
are you sick?
no. that poem and the two preceding entries were written the week i had lunch with you at five star day café - the same week my relationship with térèsa was in limbo as i tried to decide whether or not to stay with her given her sudden change of heart.
i later realized that i didn't have as much say in the matter anyway as she was already seeing someone else.
oh, duh. i was taking lots of cold medicine yesterday, so i'm going to blame that for my incapacity to pick up on the metaphor. :)
it's okay it's not like you're some sort of teacher or anything...
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