Christina:

First, I apologize, because I am not sure if I am responding to the complete
submittal, and again, because I am not a true critic.

I like the dry voice, the 'matter of fact' atmosphere, of this. It relates
well, the element of familiarity in the waiting experience. It reminds me,
slightly, of a beginning passage, in a novel (read probably thirty years
ago) called, 'The Other'. The seemingly disjointed (stanzas?) connect
through the transition of thought to the reality of sound and surroundings.
The descriptive elements and the alliteration are quite interesting.-
Deborah


              Unblocked

              They said an hour.  I waited three, wondering
              if they crack jokes like plumbers when sinks choke
              or basements flood with sewage and conversation
              drifts to sump pump cycle puns or pipes, blocked
              since the old pope died. Or maybe,
              in that disconnected way, they discuss lunch:
              canteen custard skin, limp lettuce.

              Then there were sounds - whispers, clicking heels,
              trolley wheels - skid marks on squeaky lino,
              masked faces peering down, 'You're alright now:
              we're taking you back to the ward.'
              And you, not knowing who or where you were, muttered,
              '...like a sausage on the butcher's block...'




             christina fletcher






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