And why
Am I
Still waiting?
Why am I burning
My blood,
Bit by bit?
And I
Remember
She said,
She would come
At five.
Then I light
A cigarette,
Two,
Ten.
And I
Look at
My watch.
Stopped?
Not, but
It walks
Slowly too,
As if It is
Asleep.
Well,
Maybe, I
Didn’t hear
Her well.
Did she say
Five o’clock,
Or six?
And the number
Of her bus,
Is it fifty,
Or fifteen?
Is she angry?
But I
Have not done
Anything
That may
Upset
My love.
Is she ill?
God forbid!
Perhaps,
The bus Is late,
Or she still
Looking into
Her mirror,
In delight.
Should I leave,
Or should I wait?
I should wait.
For hopefully,
She may come,
She may come.