Rhythms: Waiting

Waiting. Credit: Sue De-Gregorio-Rosen, Photographer

by LJ Frank


linger and mark time,

is expectation a prologue

or merely a reservation misplaced

save the curb where I sit

I remain and watch

a dream wanting of lucidity

holding my chin straight

my mouth is dry

my conscience struggles

integrity is not a place

or etched in a plaque

it’s merely the trial within

for my drug of choice is patience;


having been referred to

as “just in case”

I’ve have had worse nomenclatures

designated nicknames and eponyms

in the past

a branding lost in a be-wilderness of jargon

nor was the “I” a symbol or typology

rather simply a non-denominate

with no creeds or tenets or doctrines

save the “soul” of my bare feet

on occasion

imprinted in the mud;


my attire shreds

a miscast metaphor

in a forgotten century’s alley

the stone and brick theater

with two lamp posts as guide

and all the while

a reason for being here this moment

departed on a bus

three hours ago

and so, I wait


and wonder

if the beat of my heart

is a rhythm in your soul.