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POETRY

Aaron Lee Soon Yong

Waiting Room

It is not quite noon 
in this light-drenched cubic space
of beeps and muted voices telling secrets.
You pace the corridor outside the ICU,
each step tallying a lifeline between
today and every day, from now till whenever.

This was supposed to be a year of perfect vision.
This might have been your second chance.
Nobody warned you that today was a day
of false premises, a day made for poetry in hindsight, 
its keen brilliance hanging momentarily by a thread.

The sound of sliding doors and footsteps
makes your legs tremble. An angel of compassion
bearing the nametag A. Mendoza, approaches 
with an uncertain smile.
You clench wet fists, turn your back 
against the clock on the wall while
its fingers scroll a belated beckoning:
say seize the day, I love you,
enough already, no god please not yet

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