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47,306 poems read
“Uptown Train”
She hide behind
her magazine,
noise canceling
headphones
riding a top
her blue Dodger
cap
which covered
her
strawberry summer
blond hair,
she always wore
her sunglasses
part fashion trend
but mostly just
to help keep
the eager
boys
from her side
as she rode
the uptown
train
back and forth
to work
she works long
hours
at a job
she hopes most
days
she’d get fired
from
just too poor
to quit
so here she
sits
trying not to
get ambushed
by the middle
aged men
who think they
have a shot
with her
and just have
to take it
something about
the train
that makes them
feel
like they are
in a bar
which just happens
to be heading
uptown
on rails,
she looks away
from her magazine
out
the scratched up
window
at the graffiti
as it rolls
along beside
her
she has gotten
to recognize
lots of the
artists
and their unique
styles
some of the
most powerful
art
she has ever
seen
was spray painted
over a dirty
cement wall
only to find
a day later
some jealous
tagger
made it into
some over
exaggerated
body part,
she sees a
couple of
familiar can
collectors
street people
who seem to
always work
the same sections
of track each
day
or is she just
seeing different
people
each time she
looks
and not caring
enough
to think of
them
as unique
maybe if they
spray painted
some message
across their
shopping carts
she would pay
more attention
to them,
how did her
world
get so small
what happened
to shrink it
one day
she had
no boundaries
or walls
to stop her
dreams
from spreading
out
above her
blocking the
light
of reality
letting her live
in the shade of
endless possibilities
nowhere in her
thoughts
did she ever hear
“You can’t do this”
now,
the hard plastic
seat
on the train
seems like its
only there
to remind her
with every
bump
her limitless
imagination
has been caged
her dreams
tamed
and domesticated,
she turns her
head
as a new
piece of graffiti
art
wizzes by
trying to catch
the tag
never really
knowing
if it will be
there tomorrow
she puts her
magazine away
decides to
try and put
faces
to the people
she sees everyday
collecting
bottles and cans
most of them
only staying a
small step
in front of
survival
while being left
far behind by
normal life,
normal
she says
in a whisper
she use to
hate that word
wanted nothing
to do
with anything
that put her
next to it
prided herself
at living on
the other end
of the sliding
scale
it sat on,
now that she’s
a bit older
she’s not so
sure
she knows what
normal is
anymore
or how far
from it
she really wants
to be,
she pushes those
thoughts
around in her
head
and comes to the
conclusion
she still has
control
over how she
still sees
herself
maybe it’s time
for some changes
remind herself
she still has
some fight
left in her
against the
normality of
society
she takes out
her lipstick
from her small
bag
as the train
pulls up to
her station
and as she
steps onto
the platform
and leaves the
train
she looks over
her shoulder
at her now
vacant
window seat
on the train
and written
across the window
in bright red
lipstick
just one word
“ANARCHY”
she gives an
approving nod
tied to a
self-satisfying
smile
she pushes
her way
through the
crowd
as she tries
to remember
which box in
the attic
she packed away
all her
punk rock
gear in
and if any
of it
still fits…
Tom Allen…01-04-2018…
She hide behind
her magazine,
noise canceling
headphones
riding a top
her blue Dodger
cap
which covered
her
strawberry summer
blond hair,
she always wore
her sunglasses
part fashion trend
but mostly just
to help keep
the eager
boys
from her side
as she rode
the uptown
train
back and forth
to work
she works long
hours
at a job
she hopes most
days
she’d get fired
from
just too poor
to quit
so here she
sits
trying not to
get ambushed
by the middle
aged men
who think they
have a shot
with her
and just have
to take it
something about
the train
that makes them
feel
like they are
in a bar
which just happens
to be heading
uptown
on rails,
she looks away
from her magazine
out
the scratched up
window
at the graffiti
as it rolls
along beside
her
she has gotten
to recognize
lots of the
artists
and their unique
styles
some of the
most powerful
art
she has ever
seen
was spray painted
over a dirty
cement wall
only to find
a day later
some jealous
tagger
made it into
some over
exaggerated
body part,
she sees a
couple of
familiar can
collectors
street people
who seem to
always work
the same sections
of track each
day
or is she just
seeing different
people
each time she
looks
and not caring
enough
to think of
them
as unique
maybe if they
spray painted
some message
across their
shopping carts
she would pay
more attention
to them,
how did her
world
get so small
what happened
to shrink it
one day
she had
no boundaries
or walls
to stop her
dreams
from spreading
out
above her
blocking the
light
of reality
letting her live
in the shade of
endless possibilities
nowhere in her
thoughts
did she ever hear
“You can’t do this”
now,
the hard plastic
seat
on the train
seems like its
only there
to remind her
with every
bump
her limitless
imagination
has been caged
her dreams
tamed
and domesticated,
she turns her
head
as a new
piece of graffiti
art
wizzes by
trying to catch
the tag
never really
knowing
if it will be
there tomorrow
she puts her
magazine away
decides to
try and put
faces
to the people
she sees everyday
collecting
bottles and cans
most of them
only staying a
small step
in front of
survival
while being left
far behind by
normal life,
normal
she says
in a whisper
she use to
hate that word
wanted nothing
to do
with anything
that put her
next to it
prided herself
at living on
the other end
of the sliding
scale
it sat on,
now that she’s
a bit older
she’s not so
sure
she knows what
normal is
anymore
or how far
from it
she really wants
to be,
she pushes those
thoughts
around in her
head
and comes to the
conclusion
she still has
control
over how she
still sees
herself
maybe it’s time
for some changes
remind herself
she still has
some fight
left in her
against the
normality of
society
she takes out
her lipstick
from her small
bag
as the train
pulls up to
her station
and as she
steps onto
the platform
and leaves the
train
she looks over
her shoulder
at her now
vacant
window seat
on the train
and written
across the window
in bright red
lipstick
just one word
“ANARCHY”
she gives an
approving nod
tied to a
self-satisfying
smile
she pushes
her way
through the
crowd
as she tries
to remember
which box in
the attic
she packed away
all her
punk rock
gear in
and if any
of it
still fits…
Tom Allen…01-04-2018…