Awaiting the 5 o'clock

(A Series of Vignettes)


One

She picks her
teeth with the edge
of a red finger nail
waiting to open the
ticket booth and begin
her shift.

The sound of trains have become
a casual comfort in each
arrival and departure;
clockwork and organization
dulling the numbing
pain from lonely nights.

It's a living.



Two

He touches her photo,
glances gratefully
at the edge where her
dark eyes are always
smiling.

He waits for her.

The 2 p.m. arrived
10 minutes ago and
he breathes an
anxious sigh.




Three

Her triangle is
the dense obsession
of bitten finger nails,
scribbles of slate-scaled
verse, and sensible tea.

Black lipstick contrasts
pasty skin, fishnet, and
and black leather.

She doesn't need cat-calls
to know her time nears.

The 3 p.m. is always on time
and if not ...

who cares?



Four

A proud display of four
folds down like layers
of ancient sediment;
a history lesson
on genetics and family
tradition.

Proud smile aches
with each presentation
until the announcement.

His train has arrived.

Good day, Good day,
good day, he scurries
tucking photos back
inside his pack.



Five

I absorb the collection
sipping "Dunkin'" and
picking points.

I'll own some -
toss the rest.

I believe I might be
different, yet know
I am the same
shuffling in
uniformed line for
my quick-to-find seat
on the 5 p.m.


Pamela A. Lamppa
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