Part 33

But the things that happened
turned life into a second class
waiting room in a grubby train station
in some small town, somewhere
between here and there, a name
you would hear only if there has been
a blockade or an accident.

Waiting is a fool’s errand. Waiting is
not hope, do not give hell a sweet
sobriquet. You don’t wait because
you think you have a chance, you wait
because there is no other way. There is
no train to come, there is no place
you want to go. Just this seedy
room on a nowhere platform with
a yellow light bulb separating
you from insanity.

Mice scurry in the dark. A lost gust
of wind sometimes wakes the
dust. An empty Pepsi bottle rolls between
benches. Life goes on while you wait.
The stretch of universe you hold tight
between your fingers, starts to slip. You
think the rumble of thunder is an
incoming train. You think you imagined
the rain. You wake up in your own
bed, wet and shivering, still waiting,
a bottle of pepsi, warm and flat,
sitting on your table.

In a train station, a yellow light
bulb flickers.

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