HOSPITAL, IMPOUND, CHECK CASHING STORE
HOSPITAL, IMPOUND, CHECK CASHING STORE
The past two days have been full
with visiting places where poor heavyset women work
behind thick plexi-glass booths
with half-moon slits
cut out for them to talk and accept money.
People wait for far too long to talk to these women
and are usually angry
when their turn comes around.
Most of them didn’t
choose to come to these places-
outfitted with beige telephones
utilitarian computer monitors
and a floor that is constantly being mopped
but will never be clean-
Most people were brought here
by unforseen circumstances, accidents to
these tiny rooms, and numbered departments
packed with crying babies
unemployed fathers
head trauma,
the elderly,
too many unpaid tickets.
Everyone sitting in hard plastic chairs,
watching fuzzy spanish television,
holding clipboards,
not talking.
Everyone waiting
for the woman
in the booth
to give them an answer
that will make them feel
like things are going to be okay.
Everyone preparing
for what they will say
when she tells them things will not.
Because chances are they won’t,
they won’t be okay.
Because these places
are not designed to make it okay
and these women,
good women,
strong providers though they might be
do not care about the problems
of the masses who flood these rooms
day in
and day out.
For they do not make enough
to care.
And there is not time enough on the clock.