Here are you. The Track takes you West,
where trainees meet each evening.
In the backroom of the Sportsman's.
The bar where court is held. Where
the Plays of the Day are reviewed.
Training session over. It's time to
catch the 10:17. The last train out.
Heading East abroad the Penn-Central.
Rolling through Amish Green. Whirring
along railroad bends and gentle inclines.
What is the Line's final stop?
Bound for the Thirtieth St. station,
Philadelphia. Then, Queen Lane,
and your bed, about two hours away.
That's where the Track ends for you.
Today was payday. Making more money than
you ever spend, your savings account is
bulging with the wages of a man, trapped
inside the mind of a pennypinching kid.
It seems like such a fucking waste!
Relax! This day, you earned the sweat
dripping down your temples. Not everyday.
Not most days. But this day. Back home,
and wrapped up in a stolen sheet marked
Stratford Hotel, sleep will come tonight.
here in the tree
down on the wood grain
under the bark, white bark
smoldering pink below
the white soft froth.
you like... good!
yes, your seams
are straight.