Waiting

The stench of asphalt on a hot sunny day
The incessant whine of weedwhackers
The distant hum of chillers creating
An artificial universe somewhere, not here
The flies that wander by, certainly
Attracted by the nauseating odor of asphalt
And maybe the sweat on neck of those waiting
For the world to say where to go next
For the world to have an answer to what’s next
For I do not…