Soul Exchange

The sign said: “Souls. Trade-in, exchange and rent.”

The line was long. Around the block it went

Compressed by metal barriers and rope

As people waited quietly in hope

Of better lives or just of better selves,

Of younger souls in plastic on the shelves

That they could trade for their wrinkled ones.

They stood in line. Grandparents, mothers, sons,

Executives, assistants, nurses, maids,

Policemen next to jacks of shady trades

And politicians next to bums and whores –

They entered, one by one, through narrow doors

And in a while emerged, their eyes ablaze,

Excited, chatting of the means and ways,

Of roads not taken, of forgotten trails –

Then switching back to profits, goals, and sales,

To policies and meetings, tips and stocks,

But, after walking for a dozen blocks

Back to the line they went - like one, like all.

Perhaps someday we could tune up a soul.