For this week, I'm working on parallel structure, as well as narrative. Please leave revision notes in the comments. I think I'll expand the second stanza in another poem.
stale, out dated magazines my companions.
And he's sighing,
stale, old breath mixing with the anti-septic.
And he's thinking
generic thoughts too cheap to speak out loud.
God, I hate waiting.
wind swirling dust from under benches.
And she's counting,
slow breaths between the wheezes.
And she's singing,
harmonies to sooth her coughing child.
Deus, salva minha criança.