Necks craning to see their
Short term destiny...
Will the innocuous slips
In their hands be
A passport to improved
Fortunes, or merely become
A symbol of the money
And minutes wasted?

Bodies are clad in
Heavy, outdoor coats,
As though warding off
Some greater cold that
Seeks to sap them of
Energy as they wait
Under icy, crystalline lights.

Eyes are filled with hope
Or desperation, and tinged
With age and resignation,
Their lined surroundings
Betraying the hours and days
Ticked away while
Straining at the screen.

And outside I pass,
Catching a glimpse of
A foreign land through
Plate glass and open door,
Hands buried deep in
Pockets, hoping that in
My life I am faced
With better odds.

01/21/2005

Posted on 01/23/2005
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