4:42 pm in the waiting room

a poem

Ashlan Isadore McHugh

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Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
I can’t focus among the chaos flying
toys, bibles, shoes. Brainwaves running slime mold
all directions engulfing stimuli
in a cytoplasmic mass. There is not

a face you see in dreams that you haven’t seen
in waking life. Who are all these strangers?
(Will I dream about them later tonight?)
I would have been okay with you sitting

on the roof of my house in the trailer
park watching the sunset. Four-four…

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