They clasped their hands together,
and rest their worked brains
Thinking that everyone around them is insane,
A homeward bound subway train,
And they're rattling change to their ears
Convincing themselves they're not all the same.
A humble gulp of insecurity to ease the stress,
The street car travels on with great unrest.
A twitch, and a cough, but no one admits any word.
They halt at their homes. Disembark the train and settle down to watch TV shows.
The lights down low, the flickering box of rerun shows flashes out for the night.
They're all tired, and close their eyes with one another.
That copy, copy, copy,
Is a never-failed routine,
And they'll repeat it again,
Thinking old days are new.
They'll wake, they'll wear dress shoes,
and suits, and sing a silent blues.
Where comfort suits them,
They'll rot in the same old rut. Together.
I sometimes worry that we're all the same.