The Walls as Seen from a Train Station: South San Francisco
I wondered if he had felt sick
Because the walls along the tracks were
Gashed with dents, soaked in gray
I wondered if he had felt joy,
Taking and turning them into a toy
His hands and his cheeks splattered with splotches
Of salty blues and butterscotches,
Ah, like a God,
He’d colored it gone, I wondered,
I wondered if he had felt sad,
An artist like he was simply a man.
A sleeping city shone in his wake,
His wounded body veiled in paint.
Underground: San Jose Diridon
It is not a one way ticket to forget.
There are transfers, there is waiting,
And underground a quiet debating
Which train to take, which way
Or to wait another day.
Softly, the sodium lamps
Warmed the light (though not the air)
For passengers just waiting there,
Their arms crossed at the screens,
Weighing the costs and weighing their means–
Ah, the ones without forevers
They’re destined to remember.