STUDY IN WHITES <br />Wax-white— <br />Floor, ceiling, walls. <br />Ivory shadows <br />Over the pavement <br />Polished to cream surfaces <br />By constant sweeping. <br />The big room is coloured like the petals <br />Of a great magnolia, <br />And has a patina <br />Of flower bloom <br />Which makes it shine dimly <br />Under the electric lamps. <br />Chairs are ranged in rows <br />Like sepia seeds <br />Waiting fulfilment. <br />The chalk-white spot of a cook’s cap <br />Moves unglossily against the vaguely bright wall— <br />Dull chalk-white striking the retina like a blow <br />Thru the wavering uncertainty of steam. <br />Vitreous-white of glasses with green reflections, <br />Ice-green carboys, shifting—greener, bluer—with the jar of moving water. <br />Jagged green-white bowls of pressed glass <br />Rearing snow-peaks of chipped sugar <br />Above the lighthouse-shaped castors <br />Of grey pepper and grey-white salt. <br />Grey-white placards: “Oyster Stew, Cornbeef Hash, Frankfurters”: <br />Marble slabs veined with words in meandering lines. <br />Dropping on the white counter like horn notes <br />Through a web of violins, <br />The flat yellow lights of oranges, <br />The cube-red splashes of apples, <br />In high plated épergnes. <br />The electric clock jerks every half-minute: <br />“Coming!—Past!” <br />“Three beef-steaks and a chicken-pie,” <br />Bawled through a slide while the clock jerks heavily. <br />A man carries a china mug of coffee to a distant chair. <br />Two rice puddings and a salmon salad <br />Are pushed over the counter; <br />The unfulfilled chairs open to receive them. <br />A spoon falls upon the floor with the impact of metal striking stone, <br />And the sound throws across the room <br />Sharp, invisible zigzags <br />Of silver.<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thompson-s-lunch-room-grand-central-station/
