2009 -- 1.2 (Spring) Poetry

The Crowded Elevator by Adam Smith ~ep

Here in this five-by-eight metal box of ascension and dissension we come closer to the entire world than we ever even realize. We see people of business, constantly rushing, always on cell phones, carrying black bags with that fancy aftershave smell and those pleather shoes which are always shiny.  We see people of art, constantly finding the beauty in everything, always daydreaming, carrying mp3 players, pens, notebooks and messenger bags or beat-up backpacks, with that strange smell that you can’t quite put your finger on. We see the people of money, constantly glamorous, always looking their very best, carrying label upon label, smelling of the finest perfumes and colognes, always letting the rest of the world know just how great they have it. We see the weirdos, constantly making everyone else feel uncomfortable, always wearing strange clothing that doesn’t fit and staring at people for long periods of time without blinking, carrying half -eaten bags of Funions and Bugles and dirty bandanas smelling of stuffing that was left out a few hours too long and body odor, always letting the rest of the world know just how risky it may be to get in an elevator.