Figures are swaying behind the wet glass,
Shuffled between engines and lights
As they pass by, doubt shines from their fronts
Tall, short, black, white, of all races and one class:
The walkers wearing the silent mode
Every soul is tuned to its private wave.
A lady in her mid-forties
Reflecting intersections from most cities
Pushing her body towards me,
While the soft snow melting in her texture
She leaned her back against the wall
Grinned as the smoke revealed her lecture;
Oh, glad it is warm in here!
Are you waiting for the blue line?
She said.
In a shivering voice: I still prefer to walk…
Around the maze, I do still walk.
K-man
01-16-2009
Philadelphia
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