river rising out my window
quick passes phones don’t ring and closed cafes
faster rumbles on trembling tracks
past rusty cranes and broken scaffolds
fucking thunder roaring in my head,
"Who will you be, why do you run, where will you go?"
happy porter staggers car to car
his stubby smoke-stained finger
prods and pokes me free of weary thoughts,
"Pleasant evening, your ticket, sir?"
"I haven’t one,
I’ll be off right here."
~ ~ ~