The Accustoming Quiet

Out there past this secondary world is a small carpeted incline
Leading to no place in particular
But if you think about it upon entering
You can decide many things for yourself
In the accustoming quiet
The white veneer walls and cylindrical windows
Fish-netted for security
In rows one after another like a jailhouse
You can lounge for a while and contemplate
What you will say to your family before you die
That’s if you can get a signal
Maybe only a faint flash a flicker of red light or blue
Maybe you will have drowned by then
Martians will come in your place and speak
A tongue not unlike yours
They will toss balls to their children
Creatures resembling dogs will roam the parks
It will not be so dangerous to leave the terminal
There will be a loud sort of bang after liftoff
Only without the turbulence without the fog
Nothing but layers of many duped afterworlds