|picture by claudia|
In the Emergency Room, the doors shush
everytime someone enters, as a school mom
with a ruler on a quest for knuckles & morality.
She never stops.
& neither do we.
There are no strangers here. Everyone is family,
blood relation by the spilling that brought them
to the Waiting
Room. A man,
with an 'S' on his chest, and moustache
that looks like a comb taped to his lip, each line even
& parallel, is staring over the back of my couch, listening
in. I want to reach out to his face & muss his symmetry.
So they won? he says.
Yes, 5 to 4.
Who do they play on Monday?
And that is it?
He wanders through all the huddles, of family members
taking his space again, under the exit sign. Shush.
Two circles over is an MMA fighter,
I taught - math & how not to be a jackass.
His wife broke her arm.
I mark time by the number of coins
fed into vending machines - $1.60 for Buddy Bars,
$1.65 for a soda, 85 cents for coffee flavored water.
It is $8.45, in the evening.
My son counts ambulances --- racing in, lights on.
That makes fifteen, he says, and years fall away.
A nurse in warm colors calls names like a crier
at an execution.
Hawkins, the family of Hawkins,
Siegel & Shuster.
I wait for Superman to move from his station,
he doesn't. & when our turn comes, they take us
two at a time, into the ark - every creeping thing
of the earth after his kind, two of every sort
shall come unto thee, to keep them alive.
It's been raining for hours already. Gutters,
full and rising. The wind sings on the window.
My grandmother, dying.
I have $3.15 left.
I shake the hand of the MMA man.
Superman has left the building.