T Poem
This poem started writing itself in my head during my commute this morning. It may still need work, so I'm going to post it here and see if anything more develops in my brain. Your feedback would be welcome, of course.
The Mystery Train
The Mystery Train is a train of excitement,
With windows so clouded that you cannot see
The signs for the station that you might be passing
Or IF there's a station, or where it might be.
You stare in confusion at windows so frosted
An x-ray machine couldn't peer through the haze.
Is my stop coming up? Or have I just passed it?
Or am I a minotaur lost in a maze?
The conductors all thoughtfully aid in the mystery,
Never breathing a word which might pierce that dark veil
Where is the train going? Are we passing a station?
Was that blob Back Bay station, or was it Montvale?
If YOU want to ride on the train full of mystery
They're rolling along on the tracks every day
Pay your fare, hop on board, and soon you'll discover
Life is never a bore on the MBTA.
Or perhaps the last two lines should be
"You might never get to the place you were going,
But that's how it is on the MBTA."
...or something like that.
Current Mood: creative
Tags: commute, fiction, poem
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