More questionable poetic musings. They're just spilling out at the moment, imperfect and trite as they are.
Stationary transfer
We entered and exited virtually every station together: I counted.
...King, Queen, Yonge, Coxwell, Broadview...
We stalled somewhere below ground--
lights out; no announcements.
You used an emergency exit.
By the time I got to Union, you'd already gone on,
the rumble of your train dying away down the tunnel
as I swayed numbly on the platform,
an invalid transfer crumpled in my hand.
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1 comment:
It's a very good poem - small solace that you are able to create something with the shambles. I hope it gets easier soon.
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