Grey faces on the tram reading newspapers
Two hundred dead in Brazil, toddler killed in a car crash
I’m listening to Marshall Mathers on my imaginary iPod
Wondering what it would be like to be just like them
Their cold stainless steel stilettos in the rain
Clicking clacking on cold cracked concrete
A man falls, lands broken on the platform
But he is faceless, like thousands before him
But not in a bowler hat and an umbrella
He is not art to them but then again nothing is
Not to them. Not to those fat faces
Greedy bellies fat with the pain of those on the front page
Man jailed for killing his wife
A man was jailed for stealing a life
But no one was jailed for stealing mine
And no one will ever be. The song changes
To something about money and greed, how very apt
It reminds me of my mother, my father
A woman asks me for my ticket
I wonder if she wants to be on the front page
She probably does, beautiful dirty dirty rich rich beautiful
Wise words from a woman in the headlines
I look at these acid free pages
Wondering what the weather will be like tomorrow
Who knows maybe the sun will come out
This is not a poem for me but a moment in my life captured on a page. I do like it even though it is very choppy and rather random. Please give your opinion your help will be greatly appreciated.
And for Americans a tram is a streetcar.
