THIRTY minutes until the next stop

His tired body colliding

With shoulder after shoulder

After shoulder

He arrives, he departs

Steps quick

Impersonal

 

Doors now closing

His static reflection

Staring back

Face leaden by

Crunching numbers and juggling deadlines

Sitting through meetings

Where each face

Is an electric fence

 

And after the toil and the talk

And the toil and the talk

He stands up

Rushing

Towards caves of steel

Pausing

Honking

Speeding to nowhere

 

Is there nothing left

But an automated progression

Of day and night

Stretched across infinity?

Or can he instead turn his half-imagined phrases

Into brave new worlds

And cities in flight?

 

An electric chime rings

The door opens

He stands there frozen

Footsteps coming, going

The door closes

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