Loyola’s Damen Center breathes

Thriving and lively,
     we've all got our bag
     of potato chips.
Sitting on the glass perch
     where we can see the
     ravenous socialites.

All of them wearing granny's
     purple beach hats adorned
     with floral ribbons
or the mad top-hat brimmed
     with maroon velvet.

Exploring the new corridors or
     inspecting the fresh trim,
          they move in packs
               of two, three,
                  four or five;
                      but one.

The one venturing alone won't
     speak but passes the brimming
     tables toward the obscurely
     placed offices--each labeled
     with titles like 'affairs'
     'association' or 'ministry' 

...

"Being here" and "Time" are the
     sole thoughts strapped on
     the backs of everyone's head.
A holy place of breath and
     (if only temporary) rest;
where straddling conversation is
     broken with texts and glances.

This is LUC's flaunted blood trophy
     for a passing moment ...

until we procure another mailroom.
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