The train stops at 8:55am in the morning
broken down on the tracks without warning,
I sink into my seat, half asleep,
of course wishing this would keep
the car wheels from turning.

But we’re already in too deep
in the wires, underground piping
woven through the streets,
now resigned to merely typing
for the bureaucratic creeps.

If I could stop
too, fast forward to the evening
light
the fire, close the curtains,
this time I might,
though I’m not quite certain.

I have no more to give, no more to keep
the ***** is dry, the kids asleep.

The train stops
at 8:55am in the morning.