A 6:37 A.M. Northbound Hudson Line Train

My body is tired and my wallet poor, 

But I must make the effort to leave, 

My ride is here, waiting for me right outside the door. 

The sky is still covered by last night’s gray.

It appears that the sun can’t help but hide somewhere far away. 

The constant crowds of Grand Central Station 

Are nowhere to be found before daybreak.

I walk across the marble floor,

My eyes rich with dry streaks of red 

As I look up at the painted stars overhead.

My eyes are bloodshot and dim 

From too much salt on my margarita’s rim. 

I envy those who rest while I am stuck 

Standing on a platform with sore feet, 

Listening to train cars progress and retreat.

The doors open and I slouch in my window seat.

I watch along as people pass me by,

As they too depart from the city of conceit and concrete. 

It reeks of money poorly spent and overdue rent,

Thoughtful and thoughtless messages sent - and unsent, 

And scorned sins that we have yet to repent. 

I get off at my stop and the gray is still there. 

Maybe I was never meant to see where the sun went.

Maybe I was never meant to see her ceiling of cyan. 

Maybe that was never a part of my predetermined morning plan. 

I can’t see the sun but I know it’s there above the clouds

Where its light can fly free - 

Yet I can’t decide if that’s enough for me. 

But nevermind that, I need to get home. 

I have to be at work by eight thirty. 

          October 2nd, 2024