Every Day End of the Day

Every Day End of the Day

I join impatient crowds who stand in lines
I feel the wash of voices the flow of
trains next arriving destinations departures
I vibrate with the screech of metal wheels on rails
I turn toward the coming train I breathe in
electric air pushed before it I see its headlight
set a shine along the dark tracks below
a white scrap of paper blown up and spiraled
floats above my head. I stand still.
The pigeons startled off the platform
fluster-flap their wings and rise.
I wait to board the train.