The Room

The waiting room was hushed,

all waiting, perfectly still.

My own thoughts, almost crushed

by the ambient chill.

Then, the rustle of a bag,

a small, sharp, paper sound.

And then, a wet snag,

as jaws began to pound.

A small, insistent crunch.

A soft, squelching noise.

Each deliberate munch,

devoid of any joys.

The movement of the jaw,

a rhythmic, steady beat.

I broke the silent law

by watching, finding it neat

in its own small, disturbing way.

It filled the sterile air,

stealing the peace of day,

a sound I could not bear.