Poetry About Commuting

The train arrives with rain along its windows. Strangers fold their mornings into narrow seats. A coffee lid trembles at every junction. Factories and back gardens trade places outside. For forty minutes, no one belongs anywhere. Then doors divide us into separate days.

Look again from the quieter edge. Strangers fold their mornings into narrow seats. What seemed simple opens into history. Factories and back gardens trade places outside. Attention loosens the first easy answer. Then doors divide us into separate days.

The train arrives with rain along its windows. Hours pass, but the image does not leave. A coffee lid trembles at every junction. It returns us to platforms, traffic, shared silence, repetition, weather, and the hours between home and work. For forty minutes, no one belongs anywhere. The day continues with a more attentive heart.