The air is chilled out side the dungeon steps that descend to the stench below.
Autumn brings the colored leaves to rest about my feet.
I don't want to go below.
I wish to wait for the bus and go by street.
I read the sign... no bus... I bellow “no”
I guess I must go below.
As I descend those stairs, my pass quickens, hurry, hurry.
The hustle bustle is almost more than I can bear.
What a stench there is below!
A resonating tone, the doors slide shut we are off.
The man jammed next to me!
His face is smashed against the window.
We are sardines in is boxcar.
The scene is rather frantic here below.
Claustrophobic frightened eyes dart about in a furry.
Hurry, hurry as the doors close tight.
There is a good variety in the metro.
From all over the people are closed tightly together.
Two stops left before I take flight.
My relief... speaker, “we having technical difficulties, we will be moving shortly”
My relief has taken flight before I,
Am closed tight, next to Monsieur,
We start to move.
Two stops later, I arrive late.
I begin the first flight of steps from below
There are two to go.
The last... a blast of cool air slows my assault.