if i wasn't a poet
i would be working a job
hauling coal in a train

and i would be in a cabin with no windows
thinking about the destination's mini mart coffee machine

and yet, i just know
he would still be staring at the passing landscape
in the chances he gets to be in the first class car

he would have an ordinary life
but i know he could describe the sand, the sky, the mountains,
the taste of the keurig coffee on a styrofoam cup
better than i could
better than the ones who know all the words
guess, it's not the poet that matters