Passenger Poem by Ima Ryma

Winter time in Chicago town,
Cold place for a homeless to be.
I ride the Red Line up and down,
Back and forth to stay warm goes me,
From 95th to Howard Street,
Then back again each night I go.
Lots of regulars I do meet,
To share a swig, a puff, a blow.
When not passed out, sometimes I look
Out the window at lights go by,
Taken to dark like my life took.
It hurts too much to wonder why.

Train passenger from here to there,
Riding the rails, going nowhere.