Poem 6

A day trip to Boston; Admissions letter in the Mail
I don’t want to be on the train
But I don’t fancy the station either
So I’m waiting
Waiting on the train
To take me to temporary bedsheets
Travel sized shampoos
A room that isn’t mine where I won’t linger
I’m waiting, waiting on the train.
What does it matter: moving
When we move it feels stationary
In the station the bodies blur
Too quick to memorize
Shifting in and out of peripheral
In and out of reality? Who’s to say.
Time accommodates the scuttling masses
But I’m waiting waiting, waiting on the train.
I’m not moving forward, not without
The train, steaming—exhausted
From rhythm-wheel journeys. Paralyzed,
Waiting on: railcars, acceptance letters,
inspiration, divine intervention.
Feet are for pacing; Be Patient
She hisses, like water on coal,
But I’m waiting waiting waiting, waiting on the train
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