POETRY KITe ANTHOLOGY

Monument Station

When I come to Monument Station
the up escalator is howling and shrieking
like several dozen souls in torment
but the down escalator is silent.
The down escalator is silent
because the down escalator
is not really an escalator at all.
The down escalator is a set of concrete steps
with shiny iron treads all set neatly
in a polished steel escalator-casing
complete with motionless black handrail.
Every few steps of the hundred steps
I pass a small raised notice saying
PLEASE STAND ON THE RIGHT.
I obediently walk down on the left
politely mindful of the ghosts of luggage
hanging from ghostly shoulders of commuters
or perhaps standing at the ghostly feet
of all those ghosts of tourists
who have come to this escalator
and stood on the right
and stood here forever:
the ghostly monuments
of Monument Station.