In This Room

In this room,
you are here,
and I am here,
and your son is here too.

A clipboard and a man enter. In that order.
The clipboard knows. Knows you better than all of us.
And the man clings to it, as if it will throw him off the edge if he were to re-adjust his grip; oh
I want to hold on too.

In this room,
you are here,
and you stay here,
and we run to different houses.
And the walls come down around us like articles of clothing, torn off madly in a drunkenly
suggested round of strip poker and tequila.

In this room,
where exhaling is sinful
and sneezing is banned
and smiling contorts from well-meant to ghastly

In this room,
where your son stands
and your wife sits
and I wait outside the door
In this room,
we have so little ti/What was the answer to 32 again?


Are you sure?