LEAVING
CARDIFF
I wore new spooners while riding the carriage,
looking out a window that was dusted over.
Nothing much to see, my mind wandered.
I'd heard of trains which got lost in tunnels
and, as a writer, I was caught by some
running image of something being what
it cannot be. A story too clever for its own
good. I jangled some change in my pocket.
-
Do you know what it's like to just get tired
of dealing with someone time after time?
The same old behavior, the same useless
things. Like a starling, in seeking new wings,
running forward only to be dashed again
by that same old sun. I'd grown way too
tired to even complain. From today, I
swore, it all would be different.
-
I'd found a dead bird, in fact still warm,
lifeless and round in a concrete planter just
a few days before in the city. It must have
just fallen there after crashing into the
skyscraper glass above. Such things
happen more than you'd know. This
was a cat bird - alas, no more lives.
-
Back in this seat, I was looking to read,
something, anything, to pass on the time.
There was nothing intriguing at all; so
I sat there and wrote some notes to
myself. Alone, in a non-smoker car:
all this place, and no place at
all.
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