Soaring

Miles of carpet

Surge

To the end of narrow corridors; I turn

To face waves of

Flooring unfold before me, an ocean

Of begrimed pink, washed patterns

I slither through the passages, swoosh by intermittent   

Side-openings; inside, limp workers in their cages silently

Gawk forward

Their pale eyes fixed on monitors

They do not notice me writhing by their thresholds, lint

Clings to my scales, small pieces of my flesh

Adhere to the coarse carpet; left behind as I

Hurry over the uneven surface.

The robotic sound of printers

Spewing out text-filled sheets, trails behind me

Forward!

I carry on and turn a sharp corner

The pain is not important, now hurry,

Air is running out! 

I zigzag between occasional feet crossing the floor

They do not see me

I pause and wait in the shadows

The heavy door finally whines on its hinges

I narrowly escape

Its swinging weight, and up the stairs I scrabble

The cold of the concrete steps is easy on me now  

The roof.  At long last. 

Crossing the wide

Surface with a thumping heart

Peering over the edge to the street below;

Cars, pedestrians, voices, occasional sirens

Above, the sky.  Clear of clouds.  Here I can rest my

Lowly self, and drink

Delicious air, wishing for wings

To sprout out of this body

I lean over the ledge and steal

Another look down to the street before taking a

Leap over the rim, and then at once I

Am in the air, the wide-open air

Soaring to meet the gleaming skies