Waiting Room

By JW Parr


I sit down in waiting

For news to arrive 

The grim reaper in the form 

Of a white coat and clipboard


Locked inside a cacophonous prison

The rip and flip of pages

A click of a tv remote

An inhalation from an oxygen container


Fingernails scratching from shaky withdrawal

The hacking cough of cheap cigarettes

Behind closed doors a baby cries

Sliding glass and silver bells


One hour, no two – no, three

My own private purgatory

Or does time turn at all?

Perhaps the sandman is Death’s friend


Footsteps on waxed linoleum

Quick glance at the exit

As if running away

Could stop the inevitable

Nothing can. 


J. W. Parr lives in the southeast United States with his wife, daughter, and puppy. He has been writing for several years, with some of his stories winning local writing competitions, as well as his fiction and poetry being published in the online magazines, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Theme of Absence, and a forthcoming story in Jitter Press.  J. W. runs a blog in which he frequently posts in with writing updates, poetry, short stories, and tips – the blog can be found at https://itsjwparr.wordpress.com/ – and he recently started an Instagram page where he posts daily poetry: https://www.instagram.com/itsjwparr/

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