In the Mid-way house


Power surges and ancient cranky desktops

Mice around me that refuse to scamper and stare with defiance

In the mid-way house, for a week, fortnight, or maybe a month

April it is, when the saga will end

An outsider, persona non grata, a pariah

Words words words, all mean the same

The mid-way house provides succor someone said

Time slipping fast from my fingers

Do this do that see there see here, she said

I am still, mind refuses to flit around, heart no longer anxious as earlier

The mid-way house it is

For as long as the state of my present being doesn’t change

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