Q

Q,
Where are you?
I've been waiting so long,
My feet no longer ache,
But dwell
In a state of acceptance.
Acceptance of the pain
I can not relieve
Until you,
My dear, Q,
Make an appearance
To whisk me away
From the grind
To my room
With a view,
If you were to call it anything,
But still it is my view.
So Q,
Where are you?

* When I lived in Brooklyn, to go to and come from the Manhattan, I took the Q train. This poem was about one of the times I was waiting for the Q train.