The Wait
The silence of frayed ends
empty railroad tracks
for non-existing trains
non-arriving buses
Late, or not late at all,
but early, or on time.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen ..."
Watch them cluster
like houses in a village
which I have never been
Men, women and
schoolgirls with ponytails
who can't wait to grow up
beyond their teens
Lovers huddle and cuddle
in the biting wind -
it rains, or not at all
mizzle or drizzle or shower
or somewhere in between.
"Bright green, murky yellow, or electric blue?
Neon orange, light teal -
I like the grey, do you?"
Trust your instincts, my love.
Which calls the loudest?
Shouts the proudest?
Hear the voices, my love.
Do they say anything
even remotely worthwhile?
Should they be making you smile?
Yellow purple dead leaf brown
and musky dirty white.
The weary poet writes.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.
The 5:11 will not run today."
Shadows of the living
on empty railroad tracks
for non-arriving loves
and non-existing hates
too late, or not late at all
but early, or on time.
[Corresponding dandruff flake][Comment?]
20 November 2001, Tuesday, 9:17 PM
Alter ego of dandruff
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