by Samuel De Lemos
I hear the distant morning horn as it approaches—
that rolls to town around three.
Letting me know that dawn will creep into my room
through the slits of my blind.
I roll over, adjust my pillow,
I find the area that is cool to the touch.
I scratch my knee, and move my feet and
inhale the cold air swirling lazily in my room.
I need to go back to sleep.
The train’s vibration as it speeds away
is my lullaby—
I wonder what it is carrying?
Are there hobo’s catching a ride?
Traveling to a new town, starting fresh, seeing new sights…
Then my alarm sounds and jars my sleepy thoughts.
I stagger to the shower
and silently listen to the water fall
waiting for the cloudy mist that clouds my mirrors.
My thoughts stop drifting,
they’re concentrated on more prosaic things—
in between wishing I was on that train heading north.