4-3-17


         4-3-17

the atrium smells of stale coffee

and damp newspapers

the floor was clean once

the dirt crunches 

under your feet

as you shuffle them

the left taking your weight

then the right

glancing at all the others

killing time

all the while the line 

you all stand in

creeps slowly forward 

where the badges wait

to be pinned 

with austere finality. 

© Erik Hansen 2017

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Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing

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