Waiting

(on Beckett's "Waiting for Godot")

Laggard ticking, crawling forward, still:
Pulsing ties, tight knotted rope to neck,
Unseen yet felt with Habit's drug; subconscious
Faith. Waiting to wait, still sitting to sit
Till the unexpected hour, Godot arrives;
If Godot arrives, when Godot
Arrives. Estragon and I pursue
The stay, we carry on the day with mindless
Purpose. Much more like Lucky than we see
And Godot, our Pozzo, vicariously.
Blasé and raisin-dry, we keep the run
Of the tarry--without it, futile Life.
Nescience of dualities, obscured
Origins of our reason, unheard.