The Eleventh Hour

February 19, 2010
She glances at her tattered watch
The face bears many scratches
‘FOSSIL’ is barely legible on the band
And its loose on her arm
It rests lazily beneath the protruding bones on her wrist
She scowls
It harldy feels late
She presses her thin back onto the park bench
The vintage pattern leaves a deep impression on her spine
She winces and accepts the pain
She sighs and watches as her exhale
Transforms into an opaque cloud
The wind blows menacingly
Couples walk hurriedly, purposefully towards their cars
The weatherman called for a cold night she’d heard an old woman saying
She peers again at her small wrist
She shifts in her threadbare coat
And wraps her arms around her meager ribcage
Trying to portray a person waiting for something important
She closes her eyes tightly
Colorful spheres bounce around Behind her eyelids
She’s hungry
She opens her eyes and stares down at the blur of her swinging feet
Her teeth are chattering
The park is emptying
In the distance she sees a woman lighting a cigarette
She can hear a man singing
He’s illuminated under the neon ‘Open’ sign
Where he stands
Finally, she lays down on the wooden planks of the bench
And prays for sleep to come easily
In the frigid air she extends her arm
And stares at the timepiece
She fights the urge
If anyone does, she knows how unforgiving the world can be
The cigarette smoke wafts into her nostrils
The pungent smell is soothing
Reminiscent of a place she’d give anything to return to
The fractured voice of the man is a lullaby
In spite of herself, she closes her eyes again
And wholeheartedly

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Sarbear This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Mar. 5, 2010 at 5:13 pm
i liked this because i enjoy poems that make you think. i don't like them to say everything that we should be thinking if the poem is deep. i liked reading this and check out my poems too. keep writing
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