The Waiting Room   Imagine our dismay, our disappointment: there we were in our Sunday best, grinning on arrival, eager to begin, down to the last of our luggage, one-coin- toss ready — and we’re told we have to wait. Have to wait? But we made a reservation! Too bad, we’re told. We bitch, we make faces, we form a human chain. Then we wait. The magazines, same old same old. The food? So-so. Okay, nice on holidays. We’ve done things up like home for when we leave. At night some guy plays the mouth harp. He’s good.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont September 2014