When you get an appointment,
You must be there at nine.
But when they finally see you,
It's hours pass that time.
You sit there waiting,
And then you wait some more.
Hoping they'll call your name,
When they open the door.
Then they start calling names,
Like Larry, John, and Sue.
They call Mary, Bob, and Lisa,
But they never call you.
You read every magazine there,
Although the majority you hate.
You've gotta do something,
While you sit there and wait.
You twiddle your thumbs,
You stare at the walls.
Get up and pace the floors,
Then walk down the halls.
Then you go back in,
And flip through the literature.
Wondering when they will call you,
And how much more you can endure.
You've been there eight hours,
You've worn corns on your feet.
And while you were out walking,
Someone else got your seat.
They finally call your name,
But you've forgotten who you are.
So you sit there and say nothing,
And stare at the keys to your car.

Copyright © 2002  Jo Ann Lovelace. All Rights Reserved.