Dupont Circle
Descending into the yawning maw,
walls ablaze with golden glow,
my furrowed brow drips with sweat,
thick heat enveloping my body.
Passing under the threshold,
the air becomes stagnant,
the glow disappears.
Momentarily blinded by the lack of light,
I find myself following,
where thousands of lost souls have passed before.
Feeling my way through the gates,
other bodies like mine, jostling for position.
The hissing, silvery snake bursts from its burrow,
Furnace wind blasting my face.
The 7:05 is right on time.
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