Waiting Room Blues

Take a number, then wait in your head.

In it creeps as she calls your name.

The slow haunt.
The way you achingly stand

And lay out each word said,
A breath held and twisted inside.
Your eyes leap down
Her vaunted figure.
Grasping for straws

Or bushes
Or roots
Or anything that will keep you

From falling into those eyes,
And now her lips and thighs--
You're cruelly craven now,

Awed and self-despised,

Shrinking now to your seat,

Unable even to speak

As her heels click by.

Please check all that apply.