By Evan Wilson
Sitting, a student, in hot afternoon.
Daydreaming breezes of pale cool moon.
“Someday,” she tells me, “Oh, someday soon.”
The bell reawakens. It’s still only noon?
The train rides the tracks and then I’ll be there.
I wonder if windows were made for to stare.
We’ve only got two nights, oh, how will I bear
Each of the five when us two cannot share.
Clouds passing white remain streaks over blue.
Somehow the same as with me within you.
Angry and bittered, what else could we do
But sit back and wait as both wait for a cue.
Death all impatient for ending of life.
Fools call it rest, the end of this strife,
This wishing and waiting which cuts like a knife.
Right Now with Someday and husband with wife.
White Noise Zine 