Crushed
pushed from pillar to post in a carnival of microbes that play host to a germ of an idea and I'm back here on the underground wondering if the trip's worth a couple of pounds at all.

Call me a cynic it's better than calling me a taxi.

Smelly in here
legs feel like jelly in here
but I'm lucky
a seat becomes vacant and
I plant myself on it,
who knows
perhaps I'll grow bigger.

Programmed to slam head on
into walls, to crash against the
barriers, why give me eyes and
leave me in the dark?

Wednesday and some say
hurray,
but it's always Wednesday
somewhere
and it won't go away.

I think of today as a portal or
porthole, a way out to get in,
an exit or entry of which there
are plenty about
you
just haven't found them
yet.

Thus feeling this way
to blame any day
in particular Wednesday
is a waste of my time.

two more stops
removing the chocks
and
rolling down the runway
I don't care if it's
Wednesday
or not.