Waiting on the morning train one Monday,
trying to ignore the happy morning people;
listening from a distance not so far away
to the jabberwocky gossip over black joe,
that soon be all but vague muddled prattle,
with the steel of metal wheels fast approaching,
the clatter and the clamor on planked railing
the escalating screeching from a thousand yards away
deafening 'pon arrival at the station,
just temporary, though the ringing always lasts
another thousand yards on the Tinitus Train to work.
And I abhor those nineties yuppies, still in step
pushing through the aisle with their trademark arrogance.
Thirty minute ride, hanging on to tethered straps;
then again this noise machine does have its upside;
I no longer hear those happy morning people.
FjR-MMXV
Thirty minute ride, hanging on to tethered straps amazes mind entirely through expression of morning routine. Waiting on the morning train one Monday has given wonderful perception to draw imagery in poem. Wisely penned nice poem is shared here.10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A trip so wonderfully described and felt, we take it with you and are also happy not to hear 'those morning people'. More than a fine ride from an extraordinary passenger!