Author Information
Innuendos
He sits across the room,
Newspaper outstretched
Upon polyester knits,
With tortoise shell specs.
At eight o'clock in the morning,
I am not enthralled with the wait,
Receptionist makes her way
Out to call someone
Every twenty minutes,
In between muffled, gossipy
Tokens of the weekend's dramas,
And sips from a Starbucks mug,
Freshly brewed coffee.
The smell pervades
Even the waiting area,
And titillates my senses
As I recall the cup I missed
To make my appointment.
His eyes lift,
To see above
The frame of his bifocal,
Catching a glimpse
Of the clock that hangs
Above where I am sitting,
And I squirm ever-so-slightly,
Riding on the hinges
Of his disgust.
My cellphone rings,
I ignore the call.
3:19 AM 6/25/2013 ©
....
