Fluorescent Haze

The emergency entrance sign, a flash

on the way to the grocery store,

and the smell comes back in a rush:

stale coffee and disinfectant.

Chipped linoleum, a dull sheen.

A television, muted, showing a morning show.

Hushed voices, low, unseen,

behind a half-closed door, soft and slow.

Time stretches out, a flat, thin thing.

Just the low hum of machines,

and the waiting, the waiting that clings.

Everything here feels like a museum.