Hour after Hour,

Minute after minute,

I wait for a call,

From one who seemed to fit,

To fit a description,

Of being small,

With two tattoos,

And a recent welt on his skull,

I called him at four,

He said he would,

Call me back,

As soon as he could,

I waited an hour,

And to no avail,

The call was not returned,

I figured he got a sale,

Two hours rolled by,

After a shower and food,

Still no call back,

I decided to control my mood,

Three hours dissipated,

And I started to commence,

The trek to Lakewood,

While my phone sat in silence,

Upon the fourth hour,

I sat and drank,

And still don't doubt,

A call that was still blank,

So now I sit here,

Awaiting a call,

From the one person,

That I won't doubt at all.