Waiting

Waiting



(for the guy who kept me waiting)



Everyone stares at you

As they walk past, wondering

Why it is that you’re sitting on your own.

It’s already late.

You can see people you know walking

Toward you and you sigh.

They’re either going to walk straight past-

Pretend that they haven’t seen you, or,

They're going to stop. Ask you what’s wrong.

Why you’re on your own.

Why you look like you’re about to cry.

You don’t know

Which would be worse.

Being ignored or being acknowledged.





Everybody stares.

Granted, some of them are less

Obvious than others, but they still do it.

You wish you’d brought something.

If you’d brought a book,

Even a pen and some paper,

You wouldn’t look quite so obvious.

You could be in the park for,

Some other, meaningless task aside from

Waiting.





It’s worse.

His best friend

And her girlfriend walk past.

You drop your head.

Pray to God that they won’t

Say anything. They don’t.

They pass silently.

You thought that was what you had wanted,

But in fact, it just makes a tear fall.

They didn’t say anything because they know.

They know why you’re here,

They know why you are waiting.







And still, the people stare.

A man slows. He stops. You panic

Wonder if he’s going to ask you

If you’re okay. He doesn’t.

He asks for

Directions.

You answer, but your voice is embarrassingly

Strained.

He begins to leave but stumbles, then

Goes to say something else but falters.

He quickly covers it up by asking

If you are from around here.

You clear your throat and answer.

He looks a little more comfortable,

Smiles, thanks and leaves.





You notice a tiny pin-sized spider

Crawling across your hand.

You watch him as he navigates his way

Across the vast expanse of your skin,

Dancing across your fingers

Tackling the forest of arm hair.

Eventually he casts a web, and gets

Carried off by the breeze.

You’re left, again, alone.

You look up briefly to check,

Only to be faced by his tempestuous

Ex-girlfriend

And new boyfriend as they pass.

It’s just getting worse.

It’s as though the powers that be, are doing

Everything possible to make this that much harder for you.





You check the time.

You’ve been sitting on this bench

Forty minutes. It doesn’t even seem that long.

You could sit here for hours,

But you know you won’t. Even if you could,

The endless stream of painfully familiar faces

Would get to you before long. You glance up,

And for a second, you think you see his face. You start,

But quickly realise that it isn’t him at all.

You drop your head back down to your hands.

Wishing the spider was back.







You’re hungry.

You’re tempted to get something to eat but,

You'll only leave it untouched.

Besides, you daren’t leave in case

In your momentary absence, he arrives.

Coincidence is already doing its best to destroy you, after all.





Someone passes you with a cigarette.

Usually you’d resent the smell, but not now.

Not today.

Today you resent it for an entirely different reason.

You close your eyes, trying to cease the stream of memories.

You open your eyes to find a solitary pigeon pottering around your ankles,

Pecking aimlessly at the concrete. You could probably pick it up if you tried.

You are considering what you’d do with this pigeon once you picked it up,

But a large group of boys pass. The nearest one says

Something disgusting to you as they laugh and nudge each other.





The only indication more obvious

In the transition from day to night,

aside from the light, is the company you attract.

It’s been an hour.

Fighting the urge to weep, you get to your feet, finally

Coming to terms with the fact

That you’d known right from the beginning.





Perhaps he’s not coming after all.