the train comes

abandoned and metropolitan
the floor littered with tickets with
roughly gnawed edges like the
damaged halo that hangs over me
the train comes
everything is dark, dark,
and green alcoholic lights
whir about, sluggishly making
my eyes look paler.
i lie back, sit still, with one
haphazardly bared hand on
my briefcase, relaxing.
warning lights would be redder.

there’s glass at my feet,
and the cold shake of hooliganism
around shuddering grates:
will these be the vestiges of our generation?
with all due respect, and everything in order,
we have made too many allowances!
& so my own laws condemn me
- no forgiveness for my childishness!
and willingly will i take this retreat,
knowing that i would not have been able
to shine under his style, not with
his smile, and the five & a half hours
i have been granted with this sleep.

enough of such compromise!
this self esteem that reminds me
that i’ll never have his self esteem!
(but i think tonight i’ll take my chances)
and there’s rushing in the tunnel & my head,
but the booths are all d e a d, left cold & empty.
so pinky in the air and reverence on my lips,
i raise my glass. this infatuation has left me
hung out to dry. and dry she will.
they have shaken every last drop from me
and from my hands; and, tremulously,
i tell myself: “he still holds some magic”.

the train comes.
(but i think tonight i’ll take my chances.)