when you say “wait,” is it like how
I stood in line at the coffee shop for
forty-five minutes
waiting
for a hot chocolate they forgot to make?
or more like
sitting in traffic on the way home while
it gets cold
in the drink carrier
because three separate roads are shut down?
when you say “wait,” do you
actually see when I rise, when I fall—
trip
over the cracks in this old,
damned sidewalk?
and do you
actually know there is a strong chance I might be one
step away from
trading that inheritance you’ve promise me
for a warm bowl of soup?
when you say “wait,” I ask you
how many times must I
underline the words
fret not
before I believe them?
and
is my cocoa done, or did you
forget?
