Love is like being on an express train With a local ticket and no reservation. One stop you sit chillin’ as soon as it starts; It takes you for a little while and a little while more. Next stop? Get up to find another seat at the door; Maybe the next stop will be the end of the line, So rock her down till the rollin’ stops, When you seem too familiar and kind. Too hungry to sit and hard-pressed to move on, It is done before you reach your destination. Perhaps you sit on the floor transfixed Or stand in the vestibule near the toilets. When you’ve opened your eyes to the world you created, It is half past late for the ride to go that way. Without faith and vision no place goes well. From car two, aisle-seat nineteen you move, To car two, seat twenty-six window move, Third stop, to car four, no seat at all; Two-thirds of your life down the line. Red signal reflection on how your trip’s been going. The train may reach your station too so...
Poems from David Barry Temple
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