Between Floors
Feb 8 2011


Time stops
in the brief interval between floors.
While space goes on,
gently ascending
at a set angle
a constant rate.
Each of us fixed in place,
steadily scrolling past.
Time out,
a brief breath
of patience.

We tightly grasp the handrail
which is black, substantial,
a reassuring point
of attachment.
And frown at the iconoclasts
who break rank, squeezing past,
too busy to wait.

The stairs silently glide,
stainless steel teeth
meshing smoothly,
appearing, and disappearing
in an infinite loop
that seems, for all the world
to be effortless.
While in some hot subterranean chamber
gears clash
pistons shudder
taut belts whiz and fray,
transporting us
in unearthly silence.
Rising up
one floor closer to heaven,
our precious energy saved
so we can give praise
to the gods
of consumption.

We avoid eye contact
with our fellow travellers,
watching, instead, the strangers descending beside us,
down, down, down
to a dark netherworld
of bargain bins
and coupon redemption.
Smiling to ourselves
as we are lifted up,
breathing-in the rarefied air
of haute couture.
And standing in judgement
of the tightly-budgeted souls
who have fallen so low.
Most of all, their acts of charity,
conferring an afterlife
on 2nd hand clothes.