He waits

Standing there alone,


In the middle of the road,

In the middle of the day,

In the middle of nowhere,

He waits,



Everywhere to go

But here,

Yet no way of getting there,

He waits



The smell of death and decay all about,

Buildings finally giving up the worthless fight,

Collapsing into rubble,

Leaving shells of their former selves,

With weeds creeping through every crevice,

He waits,



The Holden parked up in the garage,

Left on blocks to rot,

Having been raped of her innocence,

A spider’s nest now full's her shell,

Her serene beauty vanished,

And still he waits.



The sun beats furiously upon his tarnished body,

His head drooping low in misery,

He does not care anymore,

He waits.



The white line in front of his nose,

Stretching to the right,

Beckoning, begging him to follow,

To leave this place that offers little if anything,

Yet he does not move,

He waits.



He’s too afraid to move,

Even a foot,

Too afraid to find that courage,

And leave this desolate land,

That has defined him for so long,

He waits.



A lifetime of memories,

A flotilla of people,

Caressing his soul,

Leaving sketches of a past he cannot retrieve,

Casting a shadow far beyond the horizon,

Still he waits.



His stubbornness holding firm,

Blinding him from the truth,

All is not how it appears,





And so he waits,

In the heat of the day,

In the middle of the road,

In the middle of nowhere,

For that car or truck that will never pass,

To end his torture,

And guide him through to his creator.