Commuter Logic

The rail car is rattling with a hollow, metallic sound,

and I’m looking for a reason to stay on the ground.

The boss spent an hour making me feel small,

like a shadow that’s stretching up against a back wall.

Then we slowed by the scrap yard, by the piles of the dead,

and I saw a blue tarp that was starting to shred.

A leather office chair was the only thing there,

holding down the plastic in the hot, stagnant air.

The mahogany base was heavy and deep,

like a promise that no one was planning to keep.

The blue was sun-bleached and rippling like skin,

waiting for the rain or the rust to move in.