I'm living in meantime

in a checkout queue or a lobby
at the hairdresser and the laundry
and when I take tit-bits and pastry

I'm living in meantime

when it's quiet in the train
when it's cloudy under the plane
and while I'm singing a refrain

when I'm at a stop in suburbia
take shelter and wait under a pergola
or pass over a few turns

when visitors are not coming
when it is silent after a greeting
and after excuses for early leaving

when friends whine about communication
repeat their stories with every consideration
for a lack of interest in a real conversation

In that meantime, the quotidian
breaks in between the action
I realize that I'm a person