The Concrete River

Another coin drops in the slot,

the same blank stare, the same grey hand.

This daily path, I’ve got

to cross this barren, numbered land.

The billboards flash their plastic smiles,

promising futures I can’t find.

Just miles and miles and endless miles,

leaving all the real world behind.

The grit collects upon the glass,

a film that blurs the passing scene.

Just watch the empty moments pass,

and wonder what it all could mean.