time had stopped and I’ve gotten off the train
going south where people yawning with
open mouth having indolent dreams
of fairies and queens, sit as department store

mannequins with a cup of coffee and
newspaper in hand to read about the grand schemes
of Politian’s, and mending local bridges and who
murdered who, the 4 alarm fires, who fixed what

to get their kids into Harvard and walking
the platform as if I was reborn into the fog I roll
as a bus passes me by slow, I blow a kiss
to the existentialists