Papers

He said to me, casually
One day at a time
While checking his Gold Watch
And noting the observers.

The robotic station was evident
White sheets drawn up
With a memorandum of intentions
That never work for me.

Those eyes: So understanding
That things really will get better –
But not today, not here
And not surrounded by papers.

A brush and wave; A pat
And then it was done – Monthly
No more words were ever needed
None was ever going to be given.

I leave, we all leave together
Judging the situation around us –
The sun is still high in the clouds
As I sit and wait for the next one.