phillip

someone, i suspect
a boy. perhaps a young
boy, has carved his name
into the the table
where you sit and wait
your turn. the time it
took to carve
out the letters
one by one, the strength
it took to push
quietly into the soft
wood a name given
to him at birth is strange.
to be that young
and still unknown
trying so hard to
be so. finding the knife
his only way, at
least for now.