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Laura Stevenson

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Laura Stevenson

The Wait

My life's work is waiting for a train to come,
Not driven by a living thing,
No free-will will I wait for
My masterpiece is running in place,

Charting distances I run,
Lifting blocks but building nothing,
Touching each one and walking off screen
This isn't moving,

Break my legs with the strength of one-thousand,
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Won't you take a once very capable brain and make it quiet,
Make it sane and never able to work the same again

Now that the alkaline taste in my mouth
It runs through my throat into my nose
And I know it's going to kill me

It's killing me, it's killing me,
Oh, the way the wait is killing me