Like dragons

Building stands tall, red metal monster, waiting
columns on either side of the glass, like dragons.

A sign says 'restrooms' herds you. The low ceiling,
the short maze of shiny black stalls. Leave the

almost burned-out fluorescent of/from the mirror
and begin a new escapade. Stifle your giggles

as you enter, its curved corridor a colorful mural.
Take a seat on the miniature sofa, uncomfortable

and foreign, it refuses to envelop. In front of you
the short table and chairs. The microscopic holes

in the tiles, like pinpricks made by a thousand tiny
hands. The fire extinguishers protrude, upside-down,

peeking out from their burrows. Outside the police and
the homeless, the sounds disappear as you drift. A

strip of metal runs beside evenly spaced trees and
mailboxes. Grates behind a giant rusted vent, leaves

caught in between like letters never sent. Seven
cement apostrophes lined up to grammar your eyes,

disrupt your line of vision. Arches overlap one
another, a sea of concrete and pink paint.