Headed Home
Hordes of people, shelled inside a silver snake
as it slithers along rails in fits and starts.
Beyond the windows, neighborhoods trail past,
fleeting moments exposed like snapshots.
Littered city streets stretch in mirrored formation.
Graffiti scrawled on crumbling brick,
seen, but seldom admired.
Unframed, unnamed—dismissed as not art at all.
Inside, the air hums with hushed conversations.
Bowed heads pay homage to backlit screens.
Leave me to my novel,
where I can disappear into fiction that feels real.
The metal beast exhales at each station.
Commuters spill out
into the same gray silence we came from.
by Karen Kinley
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/iamkarenkinley/
Editor’s Note: This poem carries the reader through a space that is both overwhelming and ordinary—a train, a commute, and the wish for a place that is better.
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