No Bouquet Of Roses

I sit in a small room

There are no flowers in here

No bouquet of roses in front of a well-lit mirror

Nothing here to signify greatness

No notes from fans, managers or lovers

There is only this small desk and chair

An ashtray and a cup of coffee

There isn’t a clock on the wall

And now could be any of many times

I smoke

I wait patiently

I’m nervous, but I try to tell myself that I’m not

Then it comes

The knock on the door

“Everyone’s here. ¬†They’re waiting on you.”

I stand

Straighten my tie, smooth my jacket

I draw one final rip of my smoke

Exhale, and wash it back with one last sip of coffee

“Coming”, I say

And with that, I leave the room

And head into

The lion’s den

© Dicky J Loweman 2015