Waiting

Waiting like a morning-garden spider
spinning daydreams, hoping for a dragonfly,
fearing something hardly fit to eat.

Waiting to be an expat in a sunhat
and dark glasses, sipping something tall
and as cool as I am
at a Paris cafe.

Waiting to be thin, waiting for a facelift,
waiting for a lift like Audrey Hepburn
in Two for the Road, waiting for Albert Finney.

Waiting to be famous so I can be modest.
Counting my blessings and waiting for some more.
Waiting to tire of waiting.

Waiting.