Premature evil
begins to gather in the
old brick building.
A faint odor of cigarette
smoke
lightly taints
the morning freshness.
A lone pair
of shoes
squeak on the tile floor,
drying themselves
after trudging through puddles
left by an early rain.
Somewhere a wheel
is lopsided,
as an uneven rolling sound
echoes distantly.
A flicker of light
and then it stays.
Hum of electricity
flowing through the
ancient walls,
giving life.
Faraway voices.
Amplified by
emptiness that wanders
the hallways as if on a
mission.
Voices near
and a door swings
open with a clang,
breaking the morning
wide open.
All at once a thousand voices,
feet,
and dripping garments
enter in nearly
rhythmic chaos.
It spreads,
like hot wax given trenches to flow in,
to various destinations.
All are present
and accounted for.
Every last premature villain
is here and waiting
attentively for their lesson
in hate.

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