A Draft of a Poem in Progress

Wife and I sit on the worn loveseat
waiting to see the sonography of our
unborn child.

I cast side-ways glance at
the other couples—
feeling their tension,
their joy.

The eyes studder-stop on the lone
figure in the doctor's waiting room.

She fidgets and crinkles the glossy
pages of People Magazine,
her eyes scanning pages
indifferent to the signs and signifiers—
like a grocer scanning mundane milk and bread.

My glances turn to peepshow guilt.

Wife’s name is called and we exit
together.

I never saw her again
but the bulge of her stomach
made me feel as if God was in the room.