Sometimes it's like boarding a 747-
people all colors--all stations chatting-
while some stow baggage.
All peer forward, through glass doors.
Sightseers on a giant roller coaster
moments prior to a gut-wrenching plunge.
The doors swing incessantly like
abandoned house doors slam-banged
by gyrating winds.
Woolen suits stride in and out, sometimes
a silk dress,
dragging carts of files or lugging shiny,
Not the flamboyant, testosterone
spewing knights gloriously portrayed on TV
they're the shiny-new,
brow-furled has beens,
the chinless never was's.
Smiling, joking, disputing
commiserating high BMW repair charges,
exorbitant prep school tuitions,
spoiled wife maintainance
never the lives they affect-
effectively have on hold.
"It's a volume business," pouts
a court clerk.
Lawyers accept every case, profit
from few-a ruptured spine, an unlawful
death culminating from workplace injury.
Unsympathetic, they dispense scant council,
settle potential $50,000 cases for $1500
if a desperate client numbly agrees.
Modus: quick bucks & mini-effort.
Another insult to sick
the stiflingly waiting room!
Not one complaint.
We just fidget
like passengers on the once stalled
L.A. subway system,
hopes see-sawing like the pace
of homeward-bound traffic...
pathetically dependent upon inerts...
gauging racing hearts.