We have waited on trains all our lives,
have dragged lazily along gritty subway tracks
bucking and leaning with every screeching start and stop
"Next stop 125th, stand clear of the closing doors"
is the kind of advice you'd pay to receive
if you understood the message
We are always making room,
turning sideways and squeezing into a ball
to roll on to our destinations
If we could measure the time we spend,
on platforms, on trains, waiting,
we'd find centuries where our eyes should be and decades in our thoughts.
And to this cold truth strengthened by the season
we can only raise our hands, grab the support
and wait until the train takes us home
Then we will wait once more, for the morning,
for the coffee and news and slices of orange,
until it is time to wait for trains again
Thank you for spending time here.
