The Financial District

Steel-encased beings
clog the litter strewn avenues
of the metropolis,
stopping now and then
to deposit their contents
onto sun-baked walkways.

Skyscrapers
stretch their skeletal arms
heavenward,
readying themselves
for the onslaught of workers
that will soon seek refuge
from the wool-mittened winds
that snatch at them in the streets.

Faceless names
mark doorways
passed by nameless faces,
winding their way
through the structure’s honeycomb
of rooms
and hallways,
their final destination
known only to the few
with whom they share their space.

Soon,
the halls are emptied
of their human cargo,
save an occasional straggler
caught slinking through the passageways,
arriving too long past the appointed hour.

The river of vehicles
has become but a trickle,
and for the moment,
all is calm.
It is 9:30 AM
in the Financial District.