Union Station

How else do you describe
the people and their baggage,
milling about,
each with with his own
agenda and leisure?
The leather shines
on the wing-backed chairs–
a perch for the wary
Every seat holds a memory,
unique to its occupant;
where they’re going,
where they’ve been,
who they’ll spot around
the next corner.
A flower boutique
promises fragrant bundles
of purchased love.
How disheartening to know
it’s probably cheaper
to grow your own.

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