No More New

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I remember the feeling
Of new experiences,
Like entering a coffee shop
For the very first time,
The smell of it waving
In front of my face-
Coffee, fresh pastries.

Or the smell of stale tobacco
From a cigar lounge,
Dim-lit and aged,
Majestic wood paneling,
Antique lamps on each table,
Dark leather sofas,
Old humidors.

Or the first airport visit,
The smell of coffee and jet fuel
Blending about the air,
And faces from everywhere,
Small book stores
And smaller restaurants,
And waiting to board.

But there are no new experiences,
Not anymore, no more surprises,
No more new sights or smells,
No more new sounds-
Language or music,
No more new at all
Except that which enslaves.