Waiting, chatting, hands in pockets, hiding, holding, on hold
For hours anticipating something (someone?) to return.
The traffic stop, the casual cop, belie the
miracle still unclaimed, still unnamed — still
to all a familiar mystery, a known unknown.
Come as you are or as you know you want to be.
This poem was written in response to Miz Quickly’s January 4 ekphrastic prompt. I responded to the painting shown above with a persistent earworm of Leonard Cohen’s Waiting For the Miracle to Come, thus the attempt at an acrostic.