The Wait Poem by Roy Blokker

The wait excruciates.
The wait is life
Between those brief seconds
Of pain and joy,
Terror and elation.
The wait is tea
Too hot to drink,
Friends too far away
To see.
The wait is your teenager
Out past curfew
In the family car;
The flowers clutched like
Precious escaping air
In your trembling hands
Two hours before
Your date;
The conversation before
The kiss;
The long nights of anticipation
Before the Guest arrives.
The wait is an un-ringing
Telephone,
Doctor on the other end
Waiting.
The wait is that
Long stretch of highway
With no vista points asking
"Are we there yet? "
The wait is paint drying,
Grass growing, the twelfth hole,
The pre-game show
And then the commercials,
Q. E. D.;
The fish to bite, the war to come,
Winter.
The wait is calm seas,
Dark skies,
Stars fixed in space
Imperceptibly dancing,
A symphony of largos,
Orchestra on break.
The wait is an unmarked grave
In a French courtyard,
Truck engines running
Near the Kremlin Wall,
A short, last kiss
Blown to the boys
As they lined up,
Wait over.