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Outside the Temple, Waiting for Christine

"My facade apparentlyis something less than architecture."

Published onMay 30, 2024
Outside the Temple, Waiting for Christine

Photo by Haley Black: Pexels.com

So this is what waiting is all about,
pacing before the temple,
pretending comfort on the concrete steps,
admiring the marble tripod,
the entrance flanking sphinx.
I look at my watch
and then the limestone monoliths.
I feel my pulse,
run my hands across the huge bronze door.
After a while, I know my entablature
from my column base.

It's growing darker by the minute.
My eyes can barely read the inscriptions.
My fingers must aid and abet.
Already, I know more about this building
than the college kid who gives the tours.
Two hours I've been here.
Two hours her absence snatched
so brazenly from my life-time.

A cop car rolls by.
Washington's finest glares at me
across his elbow.
My facade apparently
is something less than architecture.
Sure I look guilty.

But I’m just an underling.

Christine’s the mastermind.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, California Quarterly and Lost Pilots. His latest books, Between Two Fires, Covert and  Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the Seventh Quarry, La Presa and Doubly Mad.

  

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