This poem also feels quite raw and unfinished, but I wanted to put it up anyway.
On the train
oh, I don't know, seems to me that
if they wanted to they -
yeah, jus' bludgers, right? I mean I -
gotta dollar, lady? I needa get home, I haven't got the fare
mama, look! lookit! a big roll of grass, out there!
- oh, come down, you'll fall, we're going round the bend
if I close my eyes and sway with the motion no one will see me here
I will melt into the metal skin of this train and be no more
excuse me, young man, but I believe that is a disabled seat
he don' look too pleased about that!
but he moved, though -
are they meeting us under th' clocks?
nah, at the Maccers, you know, the one that always smells like chuck-
oh God, I wish he'd stop crying
everyone is looking at us
hush little baby don't say a word
I reckon we can score at th' station, there's always a guy-
sssshhh you idiot
I wonder how much it would hurt, to step out and embrace it
stand on the tracks with arms wide open and meet the oncoming steel with a smile
not long now, not long, honey-
we're almost there.
- Kathy, 10/1/12