It's about being cold in a thin unprotecting gown
Deposited like a piece of meat to be delivered to
Apparently no one in particular,
Deep within the lower depths of the hospital Waiting in the long hall with the closed doors,
The radiation logos warning danger all around me
Warning danger waiting for me, waiting at the door,
Waiting in this hallway without people,
Waiting cold and silent,
Save for the sounds coupling pipes.
Ducts run the length of any life down here
Originations unknown, destinations unseen. Utterances of industry plodding on, above me
They snake, turning into this corridor
Delivering inside their ducts--God knows what--
To whomever or whatever, (one of my ducts has already delivered)
Speaking the language of technology within their ducts
They move messages.
Behind closed doors reveal their secrets.
This is the place to find out if my own ducts
Have received a delivery
Which door will it be? Will it be behind door number four? Waiting, I recall
All those sorry souls who stood in cold, cold lines
Waiting for different pipes
To bring them showers.
A cold end in a cold world.