Poem — Vivienne Plumb

The Waiting Room

 

You are the space
I have to go to before
teeth, before tickets,
before examination,
and lying on the funny little bed,
before the train, the plane,
the exam, the interview,
the sudden realisation,
the notification, and the sad,
sad verification.
A coffee stain on the table.
In the last one: rows of toothbrushes
approved by dentists all over the world
and a nasty scuff on the wall
near the exit sign, it wasn’t me.

 

Vivienne Plumb

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