I stick my thumb into the little hole to the left of my heart
Just as the train passes by. Each morning, when I wake from dreaming,
I only remember that one moment: The sun dipping around the leaves.
The Queen, in all her glamour, staring past me. The small furry creature
I can’t quite name running circles on the ground.
That’s trains for you. Always going someplace till they wear out
And get left in a junk yard, camouflaged over with graffiti.
So I dig in and hold on, and let the passing things pass,
But not before I’ve ridden them to the moon and back.

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