Commuters

The puppy sun
licks at my face
not letting me sleep.

I wake aboard
an inbound train
uncurling in my seat.

A man flips through
a file, his office formed
by knees and shirt.

His neighbor’s paper
crinkles, each page crying
“read me first!”

Pre-teens pose
in Hello Kitty clothes
as if in a mirror.

Twin earbud boys
sway with wires
dangling from their ears.

A romance novel
smoulders where
a lady marks her page.

The train conductor
twirls his punch,
sherrifing an Old West stage.

Early bird commuters
ride on tracks
within their minds.

Their dreams dissolve
at 6:03, derailed
at the end of the line.

 

 

About the Poet:
Kevin Shyne is a lifelong writer, whose work once appeared frequently in corporate annual reports, but now in his retirement, appears in poetry journals including Clementine Unbound, Poetry Porch, Poetry Breakfast and The Lyric.

 

 

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