[Poem] A hospital waiting room

A stillness,
 like a clear Austrian Lake-
the light dim
the TV plays a flat channel
on volume close to 2
lending light and nothing more.

A mobile sings gently,
Rippling the silence
An inaudible whisper
A swish of clothes
A form rises,
a muffled adieu
Drifts upon the air as it leaves.

A black clad form floats in
 a hushed greeting
settles down in the void.

In waiting rooms,
Women don't talk of
The weather

They stare intently
at bags shoes and phones
May be they meditate
Or ruminate
over home, quarrels, finances, children...

Does illness make one taciturn?


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