Feed my imagination
Why do the trains cry?
I hear their small voices, their needy tears
Crawl into stations
Out of stations
And maybe they are not in pain,
Their hearts are not aching for freedom
But I feel their bumpy hands rub me,
Draw me closer to posture correcting seats
They keep us close enough for comfort
And at elbow distance for privacy
But answer me this,
Why is it that not everybody sees the yellow smiles painted as barriers?
How they lay everything on the line as the trains scream for them to move
How the driver becomes Olaf when bodies approach glass screens.
Maybe it’s because,
Life is the most temporary thing we have to permanently keep
And they just can’t bare the thought of gifting themselves an unboxed present every morning