Transportation Series

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
These are two poems that I worked on in transit somewhere. It is interesting how things move us in the world.

Submitted: November 19, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 19, 2012

A A A

A A A


 

Baltimore

 

The cold steel overhang,

And Im there.

Transport, transfix, transcontinental.

Mess of wires and books and pages and coffee and bags that

Crumple.

Underneath, cold and hard, support.

A sneeze behind, a viral transportation mechanism.

Only the tufts of hair can be seen in front.

It sways, it moves, it elopes.

Outside- an industrial jungle of cement and work and peoples brains shoved

Together. In one room.

Songs sweetly sing by. In one ear, sooth the brain, calm me down.

Make it better.

Two hours, forty-six minutes. Of sitting. Of listening.

Alone, typing, calm. Keep calm. Am I here? Am I there?

Where is here?

Good Morning, nay, good afternoon.

Sweatshirts and comfy pants and bright colors. Mixed.

Maybe I will dream about you tonight. Or you. Or you. Or no one.

The conductors crackly-sugary-syrupy voice tells you. You are here. Here is good.

Here is best.

Watch your step.

 

Metro

 

Stick my back to the seats like Velcro.

Diagonal, across, in front.

2,3,4,6,5.

High off of the love that the drink gave to your cerebellum. Off kiltering your

Hypothalamus.

A snack,

A smile,

A snore,

A smoke- unlit,

A stare,

Asleep.

Waiting, and pondering, The train doesn’t move yet.

Pretzls and newspapers and shoes and little tabs off of tickets scatter the floor. But they are stuck. Unlike us. We are stuck, but moving.

We are able to leave, the doors can open

And we can smile

And regain our lives

And join our friends

And smile. And we can move.


© Copyright 2017 CaroHirsch12. All rights reserved.

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