There it is sealed from under a mall.
The shops on top.
Foot traffic crosses those smooth floors.
They are all polished to the same degree as faces.
I could feel and hear the squelch of rubber souls forced against linoleum.
Uncomplaining yet panic stricken looking for style.
Prowling a foodcourt.
Watching their own steps.
Never wondering what is waiting below them.
From under the mall.
The many layers of forgotten abandoned products.
Piled and dry in the endless dark silence.
Until the next purge of useless stock finds its way down.
The shelves down here speak like glasses toasting.
Noone would question why, for noone hears it.
One would look for a corridor to reach back up to the mall above.
But like an undertow at sea, there's no way back.
Entwined in a thousand mannequins who have slowly changed shape.
It looks like they had moved once or twice on their own.
Their strange expressions reflect many decades past.
Way back in the eighties when they were stashed here.
And now they've paved over the exit and entrance.
Like a tomb it all just remains waiting for archaelogists hands.
It all just humms in the darkness like a perfect organ,
with no real purpose but to keep itself in tact.
