Waiting

by Ian Mosher

Waiting

It's lonely for me
in these deserted hallways,
the way the dusty light collects
in barred rectangles,
so serene sitting there on the floor
that I don't want my path 
to disturb them.
The solemn, rhythmic sigh
of rubber-padded
soles
keeps my mind from wondering too far
while my feet take me home.

There's no sound coming from inside,
the radio and television both asleep
in the absence of an audience;
I let myself in.
There are no messages 
on the answering machine;
I did not expect,
but I had hoped...

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