Running Late

Jacket is slowly retrieved,
carefully put on.
Scheduled appointment time
has long since come and gone.

Waiting for an indication,
some reason for this to-do
rather than being left alone
by myself to sit and stew.

Simple words remain
unsaid.
Billowing images rise
instead.

Thoughts fly
to delirious heights;
trailing hurt and anger
ready to ignite.

No explanation given
for the unexpected delay.
Patience wears thin
with the lengthening day.

Minutes pass,
magazine pages are read.
Still no one comes out,
nothing is said.

Jacket is buttoned,
zippers zip.
Do not reschedule.
Never mind a tip!

Blank Page

A page stares blankly up at me.
I curse and rant.
I wave and point my pen.
Yet the paper remains unmoved.

I pace my room.
I look out the window
reciting to this stationary sheet
all that I could be doing.
I could be walking the paths in spring sunshine
with the many other Sunday strollers.
I could be planning tomorrow’s dinner.
I could be,
I could be doing anything but trying to write!

The unmarked note pad
waits patiently,
vacant.

I am irritated by its emotionless state.
So I write.
To shed my emotions.

I want to mar the page!
Deface its untouched, barren territory.
I write forcefully to deny
empty, white space
a place upon my desk!

I spill language
that brings life to feelings
that were masquerading
as restless energy.