Walking To The Train Poem by John Lyday

An old green bag, a cold weather coat,
walking in sunshine down a road
meant for traffic, not for feet,
aint no bus, for a cab – too cheap.

Passing cars stare silently.
Think I'm homeless, might as well be.
Folks are gone, got no ride
Alone on the street, walking on the side.

You might ask me, Where's my wife?
Where are my children? Where's my life?
Couldn't even breed myself a ride.
God only knows. I could have tried.

Too much whiskey, too many fries,
I can't count my alibis.
My feet are sore – despite the pain,
Another mile to go; I'll make my train.

12/17/09