armrests of paisley chairs
threadbare with waiting

the lipsticks of women
swivel up from tubes
their worn shapes
as varied as nipples

my mother’s points heavenward
like the spire of a cathedral
like a pair of hands
pressed tightly in prayer

a hum of fluorescent bulbs
inside recessed canisters

quiet chirp
of rubber-soled shoes,
rhythmic click
of a cart’s one sticky wheel

in a hallway, gazes meet
then slide away in silence

two cars pass on a road
each beam for the moment
illuminating the other’s darkness