By John Grey
I’m waiting in a large white room,
seated in one of a hundred chairs
that are set against the wall.
I’m weary of being the man who falls.
The world is hard on me and hard for me.
But, in an hour or a day or a week,
I’ll have that new limb.
My eyes can’t help looking down
at where it will be.
Then, no more crashing to the sidewalk.
No waiting around, looking and feeling a fool,
until someone helps me to my feet
i.e. my foot.
The trail from my life to here
is stained with my skin and bone.
But the return trip will be different.
I’ll be upright the entire way.
Other people will no longer notice and take pity.
The real reason I’m here
is so I can get back my anonymity.
So I can go about unnoticed.
And, if I change my mind,
there are other ways of putting myself out there.
A smile maybe.
Just not a chainsaw.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Santa Fe Literary Review, and Sheepshead Review. Latest books, Between Two Fires, Covert and Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, La Presa and California Quarterly.