Night Train

The night train rattles through the dark,
as your eyes blur from too much day,
too much time spent peering into the future
with strangers and false prophets.

Your eyes blur, almost adjusting
to the dim light, to the blur of winter
through the windows as dusk falls
marking, not the end of the day,

but the start of night, of another journey,
one of so many that at times
you have to find your way to a diner,
to a newspaper to be certain

what city you are in.

About this poem

My work travel schedule changes way too often. So does my life sometimes. At least this past year it has. Once, I had traveled for two weeks solid, a different city every day. When I woke up in my hotel room in the morning, I had to go get a newspaper from the hotel store to find out where I was. I was in Baltimore.

I love to travel by train, but do it far too rarely.

At the end of the day, my eyes are generally tired. I rarely use glasses in the morning. I almost always do at night.

From all that… a poem.

Tom