Where I Wait for the Train

Poem #267 • He is the trunk, I am the blossoms

In many long hallways underground
so many filled with browns and grays
a streak of orange and yellow seems a better place to wait for the train
I can hear voices in the distance
although it’s as quiet as grumbling ice in the tundra
there’s machinery somewhere
though not where I sit

The graffiti of life
it paints but contrasts
structure and anarchy
the just and the knife
I’ve seen it everywhere but here

There’s something about this underground corner that makes people stop
Maybe it’s that you can blink and miss your ride
or just that muted tones are the only kind of hide that speaks to the street
counter-culture but worn
chaotically neat
this place where I wait for the train

I can stretch to the tune of the drone
I can dress up, go out, and know I’ll make it home
but I want more than a corner of life that leaves me alone
that’s why I wear the colors of this hallway epitome
it’s survival to show my marks but let it be known
this place is where I wait for the train

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For more of Grant Hope, you can find books, audio visual poetry, and his “Poetry Respite” newsletter at his website: granthopestudios.com