Untitled #1


abeIt’s a million pounds of marble.

It sits like a massive boulder
or a bomb-shelter two blocks
from the Square, which is what we call
the center of town, even though
it’s a traffic circle. Past the comic book store and the candy shop
and the place that sells
expensive shoes from Sweden,
the century old Federal Building
looms on the left shaming
every other property on the street.
Forty-foot columns and marble stairs
frame the entrance that’s
no longer used, a more
utilitarian doorway hides
just around the corner.
When I was a young man
working in Washington D.C.
I used to ride tricks on my
mountain bike on a staircase
identical to this. Nearby,
Abraham Lincoln, arm and chin
pointing to the clouds,
stands sentry or dreams
or searches the sky
for the flying machines
that will become so common
a mere fifty years hence.

windowInside, a brass railing,
inlaid and molded, all fleurs-de-lis,
and jailhouse bars draws me
up the winding stairs
to my office. The textured sidelight
of my door, reminiscent
of a frozen pond as the ice
begins to give way beneath my feet,
welcomes me to work.
I’m the first one here today.

2 thoughts on “Untitled #1

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