Benjamin James Lancaster
babel
I sit up
here, unmoving
floating, removed.
far beneath me
a colony of workers.
it is lunchtime.
this plastic
chair molds my back
straight.
this collar keeps
my chin up
off my chest.
it is tuesday.
skinny belt stiff
around my waist
I gaze
sleepily out
the large clean window
at the tiny men
bright, fluorescent
moving with heavy purpose
tool belts soft
and stuffed, worn
sagging with the weight of the work.
steel girders support
their shoulders, thick
cables wrap their arms
hard hats push down
their heads, orange cranes
massive and anchored
pivot in place, drawing
perfect slow circles
around them
giant spirographs mapping
new terrain
with their dangling cargo.
they coordinate in silence
their hive chaotic
dusty, skeletal
busy.
they build.
above, unmoving
in the hyperconscious quiet
of the staff cafeteria
I clear my throat for something
to listen to
eat my trayed lunch
with my soft hands
and check the clock.
they will reach me, one day
and I will not have moved
from this plastic chair.