It is a few raindrops past midnight
the skies crossed by streaks of bright fumes
lay abandoned above the concrete floors.
Greenish plastic seats at least get a rest
from the myriad wary a traveler
malodorous business suits and naked feet.
It was another maddening day in the glassy hall
tall as a skyscraper without purpose
with screams, and calls, and cries.
A cosmopolitan world in transit
the ghosts of many souls remain
exhausted, ecstatic, fearful or perhaps broken.
Not a sound remains of this resonating chamber
with sterile tiles and stale coffee drinks
mausoleum in waiting of its next harvest.
I have often wandered those corridors alone
when the night had sent the mobs home
to recall adventures lived and not.
How eerie the deathly silence
where so much was alive
hiding within the walls to be born again.
International travels to begin and end here
dreams for those who have but a moment to hope
joy in anticipation of a vicarious journey.
About the Author: Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.
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Image Credit: Historic American Buildings Survey Richard Koch, Photographer June, 1936 DETAIL STAIR AT SECOND FLOOR – First Skyscraper, 638 Royal Street, New Orleans, Orleans Parish, LA. The Library of Congress