Highlands of Antarctica

Be very careful not to step on beggars down there.

The first playground of patience this: murky haze, paddling in the slush.

Persons authorised by decree, who are all acquaintances of yours,

are collecting extra fares up top. Before long, order shall prevail.

The first carriage is empty. There are plenty of final footholds left

and the hellishly white train merrily slides away. The fifth or sixth stop

will be the one, about which not even frozen bone-marrow,

only memory will want to know. The request-stop terminus.

Here escalators are full as well, everyone lines up to go down,

all wilt away as they recede below. The air is fresh as you leave

the station hall, you look for a cab and, in the distance,

spring is caressing the highlands of Antarctica.