WAITING ROOM

My fingers. How nervous they are tonight. I try to soothe their anxieties. I give them cigarettes to hold. I groom them tenderly about the nail, the way they like it. But all they want to do is crawl down my throat like a pair of frightened wild rabbits.

Idiot fingers.

Someone stuck their swizzle stick in my ice tea and stirred me up.
Someone shook my snow globe.