Hell Through The Floor Poem by James McLain

This is a bad day for me, for you I am happy.
My head has not hurt this much in a long,
long time.
I am nearly blind from the pain.
It seems this train I picked to ride upon, has no name.
The conductor wears black, he also
wears some kind of parachute.
He knows my name, you don't he does.
He never even tried, we come to him without invitation,
he says, roses red roses, seem to help my mind forget,
though this seems not quit right.
My glasses this day have only one arm, the right lens
hugs my eye, I read through tears,
like the conductor unasked.
Many are here, they have no faces,
I called out some ears just seemed to vanish,
as if they did not belong.
I thought there had to be some kind of mistake, I tried to
point this out, the conductor simply handed me the parachute
and fell through the floor.