PoetryWritingAlan SharpeHome Page

I've waited for him all my life --

in bars,

cruising cars,

bushes under the stars.


Waited in clubs, waited

in other relationships.

Waited in vain.


Wasn't even aware that I was waiting --

thought I had gone on with my life

but here I am

with my heart on hold

meanwhile . . .


the clock ticks

the telephone doesn't ring

no one knocks

at the door anymore


I go out

make the rounds

pound the pavement for possibilities



to turn a corner or

step off a bus

and there he'll be . . .


What I find, though,

(when I wake from my reverie)

is an empty road, which I wander alone,

awash in wishing

weary, wary and without


I'm still waiting . . .


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