Stitchless

Today I had the stitches removed from my knee. I’d waited patiently since my surgery two weeks ago, wearing compression stockings and keeping the little threads bracketing my kneecap dry.

The waiting is always the hardest, isn’t it? Waiting for Santa. Waiting to get your drivers license. Your first car. Maybe your first drink. All the other firsts.

But today the waiting was for the doctor. I waited, appropriately enough, in the waiting room. Then I was moved to the “SUBWAITING ROOM.” I’m not making this up. I waited for a good ten minutes to see a sub, but none was forthcoming. Not even a periscope came into view. False advertising, I say.

Eventually the doctor arrived. He’s quite a nice young man. Earnest and capable. Definitely worth the wait. And my stitches were extracted by a competent young assistant, rendering me stitchless.

Still, I’d have given a lot to see a sub.

Peace, people.

Waiting On Grandchildren

Grandchildren are
life changers,
deal sealers
harbingers of better
days to come,
like spring’s first
robin.
Waiting for their
promised arrival
with countless
pacings to the
windowpane
curtains pushed aside
every crunch
on the drive,
each distant 
chirping,
waxing then waning in
doppler-tuned ears.
And then a glimpse,
a hush
and a rush of
excitement.
Hold still
robins.
Stay awhile.

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