People tell me it’s an ahistorical city,

Markov’s city,

Everyone new taking and trading places

Lined up, short line, long line, or next.

Always next.

Everyone old is waiting, trapped or relieved.

Success or failure, I meant it: relieved.

The unsettled increasingly move

Their unsettling rattles neighbors

Their moves make me shudder.

I might be them,

I should listen,

But always I do look past them

I can nod with definition,

Almost certain

Yet always I do look past them.