Inside Out, South Station Boston
by Paul Turner
Alighted the morning train,
Wrangled the briefcase handle to full extension
Was nearly trampled, then
Swam hugging commuters
Cut two sharp lefts to scurry alongside Track One
And down the ramp, a shortcut to my building and daily exhaust of smokers,
Leaning against the station, some muttering “Welcome to Boston, suckas”.
Witnessed though the hellos, caresses, and drop shipments
Of travelers and their companions, with light and heavy dramas, and much baggage.
Evenings:
Pinched commuters moved about the bus and train stations,
Eating popcorn in bright bags,
Smoking to settle themselves,
Or trancing five deep in front of schedule boards, waiting for deliverance
