In the Waiting Room of a Fertility Doctor
By Kayla MacKenzie
Vivian watches a drinking bird—
one of those tacky toys,
where the bird continuously dips its beak into the water,
and for some reason wears a top hat—
as she sits in Dr. Van’s office.
It bobs incessantly, silently,
goggle-eyed and idiotic.
Vivian hates that goddamn bird.
She’s been waiting for over fifteen minutes already,
and, as her husband is always quick to say,
patience is unlearned in her case.
She tries to read all of the titles clustered
on the doctor’s sturdy oak shelves,
but most of them are Latin
or simply convoluted to her.
she imagines: shoving Dr. Van’s antique glass globe over
to see it shatter,
snapping the drinking bird in two,
jumping from the three-story window
into the bushes below,
rifling through his desk drawers.
She doesn’t move.