Waiting for what?

Sometimes I wake up mornings wondering why I’m still waiting and what is it I’m waiting for. I am afraid to look into the eyes of old people because I don’t want to see what is human in myself. Too many things make me cry. I avoid looking into the eyes of the world because I am reminded of what is human is in myself. My heart is a door, the red rimmed eye of the clock is pushing us ever onward.

1983, no date November? Next poem is 11/21.