They tend to move; Right to left,
As the doors and windows whisk by
In clattering pulses.
Interruptions, passing in a blur that slows
To reveal gaps and reflections.
And slowing more still;
Until the pace is such that hips and shoulders
Are dragged in unison,
Like pebbles creeping up a beach.
Their eyes track the doors,
Like prizes on a wheel of fortune,
That clicks ever slower upon the rails.
And you stand still,
Bending and ticking against the pegs,
Slowing toward infinity,
Until you find a winner.