Christmas Eve Night

There were pinecone wreaths and garlands of green
clinging to the short bars above the window.
The six foot stretch of metal, peeling brown,
was supposed to be festive, seasonal,
but it seemed a mere joke to the lobby dwellers.
An angel, colored, sat upon the highest branch
of the Evergreen, but no familiar notions of home,
of holiday, of tradition, sat with her.
Aqua carpets remained the same, stained and printed
with marks of those who visited.

I kept the seat near the entrance, and my silence,
as others trudged to the hall, the opposite direction
of the ominous red arrows and “EXIT” evenly
spaced, painted every five feet on the tan walls.
Exchanging looks and nods or slight lip curls,
we acknowledged each other, the passers and I,
as they made their way upstairs.
Upstairs, to the black pay phones, plastic chairs,
etched windows and desks. Upstairs to those in orange.