Fluorescent Waiting

The chairs, that plastic sheen,

a uniform, sickly green.

Beneath the buzzing, sterile light,

we tried to fade from common sight.

My friend, his face a sudden grey,

while I just watched the hours decay.

A woman coughed, a desperate sound,

then checked her phone, head bowed down.

A father paced, then stopped to stare

at nothing, just the empty air.

Each quiet plea, each mumbled word,

a secret agony inferred.

We sat, pretending not to hear

the constant whisper of our fear.

The fake plant in the corner, thick with dust,

a symbol of our broken trust

in easy cures, or swift reprieve.

How long must we believe

this purgatory, cold and plain,

before they call his given name?