Dead March

Why the orderly procession,
the neat rows,
the solemn filing in and out?

Why the polite contemplation
of the black box?

There should be a howling,
a roiling of people
coming and going,
not just stage left and right,
but through windows and doors,
climbing walls and backdrops
like Harpo in A Night at the Opera.

No one need bother turning
to locate an exit;
every direction is one.