January 27th, 2004
107530524412996559
commuter’s hymn
rattle and rock, i am asleep
on the 9:34 express train.
eyes heavy, sweater warm,
my shoulders hang with cats and cameras, bills and what i didn’t have for dinner last night.
from the tunnel, stop at sasazuka.
my breath frosts puffs, and i beg for the door to close.
but i leave off my coat because it makes me feel stuffy- so many gone mornings pumping the gas and waiting for the engine to warm.
want for bed, want for blankets. want for- hot chocolate and the smell of my lover’s cheek.
but i’m still here, in a frozen, metal box. with suits and dresses and uniforms and newspapers…10 cars of eyelids heavy with cats and bills, all missing hot chocolate. so i pull on my coat and walk off the train- to another day full from fighting the quality of my life.
