I was just going through some old poetry I'd written a couple of years ago and found one I thought I'd share. Perhaps I'll share some more in the future? We'll see. This is entitled "Patience". Make of it what you will.

Patience -- Gord Spence

When will it be?

This room smells like new carpet

The walls are freshly painted, but already worn

Red, white, chipped drywall

We wait

The garbage can shines with irony

Denying its nature in the bright fluorescent light

People stand


Conversing aimlessly

Quietly drifting in and out

Why isn’t she here yet?

Stomach knots

Pulse races

Patience runs thin

Would eat

But I can’t

Would walk

But I can’t

I want this to be over now.

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