There's an ant on the floor and his aimless meander maddens me.
And fascinates me.
I'm too tired to rile, though.
This man's mustache is at once comical and a nuisance.
He's nice enough.
But he doesn't even acknowledge my ice-breaking jokes.
I miss my mother's comfort.
I miss being able to be comforted by my mother.
Now the gloss on the tile smiles brightly at me and makes me wish.
The cush of waiting room chairs is false; I'm here for the hard.
And why should I pay for parking?
An unnecessary dash of salt, I'd say.
In the end, rather
matter-of-factly, I'm very common.
So my scare, the kind I have not shared?
I cry in the parking lot, just to get it out of my system.
And go home to what is normal.