Terminal by Alan G. Li

An abundance of light

in the symmetrical infinity

of the terminal,

leftlit, the country low

and flat in the idle distance

Spires rise above marshes,

brackish mud the foreground

to pearly milk-jug afternoons

while metal blades rip

through the charred soot air

Customers in the faux-leather

flip and scroll, finishers

of the course, bodies

and passports scanned and stamped,

eyes tempted and often seduced

It is all a pleasure deferred;

the stalls propose sex

with the gods, spirits of unsullied

origin, exquisite herbs to layer

a throaty timbre in the lungs

Gleaming sin supported

by the virtue of thrift;

in another life they sought

pears or strawberries

in fluorescent aisles

Produce ripe for journeying

over asphalt; driven away

to clapboard castles

on sterile greens, preserved

and now rotting on a cold shelf

Teddy R and TJ in the fanny packs;

George and Abe in plastic sleeves;

their snoring compatriots immovable

as the mountains, now crossing

deserts and ridges, a harvest

sleeping under the Star Alliance;

the new world buckles under the weight.

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Alan G. Li is an electrical engineering PhD student from Maryland interested in all sorts of art, nature, and science.

Posted on August **th 2023