we dont have trains for transit where im from but this is what i imagine it would be like

Tracks show no mercy.

Cars rattling down the line,

there is no force alive

that can make time.

My watch doesn’t reply

when I ask it

to hold on

to that moment.

When I ask,

it says “Sorry,

I’m broken.”

The next to last train hasn’t spoken

in what feels like an hour,

probably off somewhere

picking up tricks,

or taking a shower.

As I scour the schedule

and listen for the toot,

my clandestine ride

seems to be lost in the loop.

Honestly, at this junction,

the point of this poem is moot,

with a broken timepiece

and an outmoded

map of routes.

I’d better scoot.

I’ll make it home sooner

if I go on foot.