Magellan's Retirement

Straining to look past the angry shouts of a weathered family,
I spot a resting globe
on the other side of a window's gaping mouth, as it clamors of domestic upset.
In the background of the globe a man is escorting a wheelchair across the room.
It is uncertain if the chair is occupied,
or who exactly is doing the shouting.

But as I wonder what use, in lives past, my neighbors have made of this globe,
what memories are stored in this tiny world,
what places the owners could point to as destinations conquered,
I hear a door slam
and car tires hastily setting out on their own travels,
as a wounded soldier departs for a new destination.

It makes me wonder if that globe is up on a shelf for a reason,
if it's dusty and lonely,
faded and bruised,
and if the solemn household, now void of shouting,
views the globe as anything more than just a dark silhouette,
idly fixed on a shelf in front of a telling window.