Monday, April 29, 2013


On the train, early in the morning,
you sit on your seat,
very alone.
It’s so clear on such an hour
your being alone,
on the day’s bare bone.
So you start fumbling
with your small glass
portable home..
touch, touch, touch,
slide and touch,
so much.
This screen, the moral
at your disposal.
This smooth log,
this starlit
Slide, slide on
this shiny pool, dear,
no matter how far off you are,
no matter how astray,
slide and touch, it’s clear
you are not dead yet, or so you say.


Dave King said...

The first stanza is good, the second elevates the poem to the fabulous!!!

Crafty Green Poet said...

Never having had a mobile phone, it always amuses me to watch people fiddlign with them so much. But then i think of myself with blogs and other entertaining places on the internet that I visit from my computer.