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
