Patience

by Holly Ann Welker

It’s lunchtime and I’m waiting,

Waiting for the toast to pop

so I can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Algebra in 40 minutes, I’m waiting for that.

A test on the eighth chapter—I haven’t studied

but that’s fine, I seldom do.

I’m 16 and I’m waiting,

Waiting to see the hips and waist

Mother Nature generally hands out around now.

I’m waiting for my handsome prince

to appear from nowhere on a magic white

charger,

Smile, and hand me a single red

rosebud

just like the ones the cheerleaders sold

for a dollar apiece on Valentine’s Day.

But there’s no prince and no white horse

Just basketball players

in red VWs and blue Datsun pickups

All too cheap to spend a buck on a flower

for a poor flat-chested girl

who occasionally writes poetry

while she’s waiting,

Waiting for the toast to pop.