Walking down a corridor

dust thick and hard to breathe.

I stop and listen, cries in the distance.

Rushing towards the agonizing shrieks,

something runs across the passage

another and another.

It must be an illusion.

My mind is swindled.

I croak “who are you?”

A loud bang in one of the many rooms.

“I’m Walt Whitman” the apparition mutters,

bearing his hat.

“You will hardly know who I am

or what I mean,

but I shall be good health

to you nevertheless,

and filter and fibre your blood”

He lectures.

He walks through the wall.

I follow him into the room–

he’s gone.