The Rails

No one ever uses the stair rails
anymore. They'd rather risk
almost certain death than
touch those old, rusted,
peeling-maroon-paint covered
metal rails. Fear of the unknown
filth far outweighs the danger
that exists. No one's ever died
as of yet. But tomorrow will come
and two thousand bodies
with four thousand feet
will go on marching
up and down the concrete stairs
while four thousand eyes
won't see them crumbling
and four thousand hands
carry four thousand books
a piece. And not one hand
will touch the rails.