people soup

people soup

like assorted vegetables

in turning halls,

the designated waiting area.

of nineteen, half accompany the sickly,

only three are under sixty,

three or four walking by are staff.

for hours a crying young woman is present

there are no children

an old woman yells out in aggravation

periodically

an ambulance stops outside

doors open as a man is wheeled in

the thumping is a nurse

pounding on his chest

the disheveled drunk

semi-conscious on the floor

curls against the wall

a disoriented man in his thirties

badly scratched on face, neck,

hands, all visible skin, moaning,

someone places a motorcycle helmet

next to him on the gurney

intermittently a woman loudly coughs,

low voices murmur in waves

occasionally there is movement

most everyone remains seated

in winter jackets buttoned

the entire hospital is slow

with the main computer down.

there is never music or TV

amid infrequent quiet talking

ambulance workers wheel out a closed

metal box the size of a coffin

an attendant wheels a gurney through

and again the same obstinate, old woman oblivious

must be assisted out of the way

some patients are called in for attention

who knows what germs are air born

what psychological ingredients abound

a screech is heard behind closed doors

no one knows if it is a patient

or metal door in need of grease

cutbacks and overcrowding

there is no cafeteria only

two exact change machines port junk food

after several hours

faces become familiar

some go out for a smoke

thus sunday passes