Peter O’Donovan

Late. Again.

They say “soon” used

to savor more acuteness,

to dictate “At once!”, “Right

away!” A tiny pledge made

to be chipped, to lose

its edge, a bit, with each

delay. A thousand years

of irritation can be felt,

however faintly, in such

transformation. The waiting

by windows, by roadsides

in the rain, as soon slides

into later, the entire after-

noon. A vow not broken,

but smoothed by mouths

muttering down, fuming

hour after hour: they said

soon, soon.

Peter O’Donovan is a scientist and writer living in Seattle, WA. Originally from the Canadian prairies, he completed his doctorate studying computer science and graphic design from the University of Toronto. He received the Guy Owen Prize from Southern Poetry Review, and his poetry has appeared in New Ohio Review, The Malahat Review, Atlanta Review, The MacGuffin, and elsewhere.

Share via
Copy link
Powered by Social Snap