Call-Back

With her purse on his lap,
he waits in the lobby.
The fake leather chair
does not fit his back.

Every pair of eyes
scans a small screen;
each pair of thumbs
does the Quickstep.

Forcing his glance away
from the clock on the wall,
he squints at the squares
of his unsolved Sudoku.

Then she strides out,
fingers spread in a V.
A waiting patient smiles,
offers silent congratulations.

May you be just as lucky, she says,
touching the woman's shoulder.
They've never met before
and won't see each other again.

Her husband hands over her purse.
They link arms and leave, picking up
their life where they left it
when she received the call-back.

Johanna DeMay, yourdailypoem.com, June 7, 2020