A Prisoner Of Conscience Takes The 7: 15 Train Poem by Raj Dronamraju

What time is the train?
That takes me from one box to another
That is ridden in protest, my raised fist holds the strap

At my job, I break rocks with my pen
Part of me holds no loyalty to my employer
That's the part that turns away in opposition

Silent and non-violent and inoculated against capitalism
Demanding a letter writing campaign from a flustered estate
We live on the fumes of emptied out possibilities

On the train, he pours kerosene over his suit jacket
It sucks to be monk-ish in extrovert capitalism
Quiet now, I want to make my protest known