Waiting Room

by Dominic Martia

Beyond the clutter of folders
a faded clerk
is asking an Asian man
about software.

No give to my chair.
The carpet pushes back.
Inside the ceiling
an air conditioner rattles.

A chart on a closed door shows
views of the human heart.
You're behind that door.

It opens.
The doctor steps out.
Rearing back, she says,
in her Greek accent,
"Nothing major."
"Thank you," I reply.

For the first time,
I notice the painting
on the opposite wall.

A river flows through summer woods.
In the distance, trees rise
above the horizon, like bouquets
thrown to the sky.

© 2000 by Dominic Martia