The Last One

Red lights shrinking down the track,

leaving nothing but the black.

The gate clanged shut, a hollow sound,

my own breath seemed to spin around

the empty platform, concrete cold.

No story here, not to be told.

Overhead, the fluorescents hummed,

making the vast space feel numb.

A janitor pushed a yellow machine

from out its closet, almost unseen.

Its low motor, a quiet moan,

while I stood here, quite alone.

Pretending I meant to stay this late,

to watch them stack the metal crate

of chairs. One by one, with careful hand.

I could walk. That's the plan.