by Cheryl L. Daytec

Love is patient, but should it be gullible, too?

Several minutes after the appointed time

A second resembles an ominous eternity

The gates are still gaping, bolts clutching

at the last hair-thin straws of their patience

The piqued microwave grudgingly stands by

to rescue carefully prepared food from cold

Sympathetic walls glow with motley reflections

Of her; he sees them with a content inner eye

Even the monochromatic curtains pirouette

With an endless stream of happy memories

He savors each one, each one, till they run out

The gardening magazine in his hand thickens

And the mundane articles seduce his attention

till his anxiety vanishes in the colorful pictures

Of course, she will arrive when she will arrive

But the gentle breeze from the open window

Diffuses a fraught whisper of rebuke, taunting,

Counting the big mugs of coffee he consumed

Counting the sticks of cigarette turned ashes

Counting the times he glanced at the clock

The times he dialed a number beyond reach

The many times he was let down in days past

Love made him forget the rudiments of math

Slowly, the wide room becomes too narrow

for the sudden flood of his tormented thoughts

The walls mutate into a boring vision of white

Till they morph into a brilliance of grim reality

With the speed of a lover tailing his beloved

He scurries to the long-agape wide gates

And locks them./ chytdaytec