Waiting for my car in the “quiet room”
Separates me from the noisy silence of bored faces.
Hum drum music,
Hulking thighs spilling over upholstered seating.
Flashback to Dad’s office,
So long ago,
Yet right here in the Toyota waiting room.
My hair’s gray now,
It’s the best I can do,
Until the gray tells me I’ll never be ten again.
Pema says waiting rooms are for “John Cage moments.”
Just pause, three breaths, again and again.
What are we waiting for?
The $900 bill?
The next flashback?