In The Underground: A Poem

Photo by Patrick Robert Doyle on Unsplash

We are practicing being dead

lying on marble floors

in railway stations

as we wait for people cloaked in

white suits and masks

to drag us away.

We were told not to be

afraid, but it’s getting harder

to breath in this air

thick with lies and the glossed

marble is so cold against

our skin. Our sprawled limbs

touch (we are not supposed to

move), we can’t help it,

and together our legs and arms

start to spell out a message.