Waiting

The phone says I’m on time
And you’re not
Your watch probably tells you
That you’re on time
And that you’re Mr. Right, always
You match your socks to your shirt
And your belt to your shoes
With the perfect knot of the pinstriped tie
And that smile which helped you
Sell your soul to the devil
And your disdain for modern art
With your perfect manners
The “Yes, Please” and “Thank you”
Which once pleased my conscience
Now makes me resent every time
You take that sharp intake of breath
When your favourite team in a football match
Misses the goal
So I wait while you’re late
But I love the solitude in that span
Where your jabber is a far away murmur
And the hustle and bustle of life
The cacophony of motor horns
Street hawkers and mothers calling out
To their errant children
Is the sound of music
I’d listen a thousand times over
The rambunctious cackle of your being

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