Four walls, no windows,
One dry carpet,
Four picture frames
A variety of chairs,
One couch, only one door!
Many discarded magazines
And semi-functional toys.
Your followers, all slaves
To your process.
One, and then another,
Sometimes in lines,
Sign your registry;
And pay homage to your liturgy.
Devout practitioners,
Some talk, some listen, some look,
Some sleep, some read, but
All sit and all wait, and
Take turns glancing at your clock.
No reason, no rhyme, no method,
To your madness,
As time is yours and heeds neither
Appointment or need, slaves
And followers condone
Your nature of waste, and
Give in to your cohort, time.
All waiting, wishing, hoping that
They will be the one
Chosen, next
To walk through your door.
