While You Wait
It's just a row of laundromat chairs—
those molded plastic ones,
screwed into a fake strip of tile.
The whole setup’s bolted to the lunar crust
under a plexiglass dome.
Every seat holds something left behind:
a single sock, a keychain flashlight,
a takeout menu folded into fourths.
One chair’s cracked down the center,
duct tape holding it together.
There’s no sign, but it’s called
Memento on the Moon.
Sometimes, Earthlight flickers
in the dome like a busted overhead bulb.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
