under the whether

I etch a bit of tepid melancholy
on an endless train from there to here
while sipping lukewarm pekoe tea
surrounded by strangers in cotton t-shirts and worn jeans

from there to here another sweet lunatic moment
creases a reflection on the stainless steel handles
I hold onto for a lurching second
another tictock gone

an acrid drop of tannic acid falls on the scuffed brown leather of my shoe
it won't stain.
don't worry, I tell myself,
don't worry, it won't stain.

leaping down the steely tracks
no resolve necessary for resolutions in this car
until the bodiless voice of the conductor
reminds me I'm not here
and there I am alone as I walk up the moving stairs
to the boundless bustle of Tremont street

every half-decision's soon forgotten
every half-made promise gone
every half-step out tune

I scratch out the marks etched on my heart
when I thought I was going somewhere else
erasing all the bits of me no one will ever know
as they move with me from there to here
from here to there
from everywhere to nowhere

I toss the styrofoam cup in the rubbish
I toss a glance up to the sky
I toss a word in the direction of some dumb bum homeless guy
and for a half-a-second, i find reason and a rhyme

The repetition numbs me to the flood of melanoma --
to the waves of bittersweet sunshine on my aging face

I stop

hours later, I return to the scene of that crime,
the same different strangers crash past
as I buy the same pekoe
for the same lonely worldless wordless endless ride home.