The Mad Conductor

That time I woke up on the train
The passengers were just piles of gore
I get out & don’t recognize where I am
Empty – I yell out – nothing
The doors locked, then
An announcement
Next train arriving
It doesn’t slow down, it speeds up
Smashes into the corpse filled car
The doors open & bodies spill out
All the trains are due at the same time
I see lights coming from the next train
In the drivers seat, a glimpse of the conductor
His torn into a smile, his clothes rags
Trains approach from every side
All driven by the same mad conductor  

Another Morning

Another morning
of another day.
Another Monday 
or Tuesday
or Anyday;
all the same all the same
with a dose of coffee
and a stream of sunlight;
a dollop of ringing telephone
and a dash of meeting somebody 
in order to exchange something
for something else.

Maybe it will be
a more exciting day at that
and not the same –
a hurricane approaches
or the neighbor is embroiled in a scandal,
another neighbor can’t wait to say.
Those days are better
because they are less the same
but they are still tedious, flawed
and full of people
or else the memory of people

but this is
just another 
morning;
just another day.
A groan and a piss;
a dose of coffee;
The solicitor’s call
goes to voicemail.
The blinds stay shut
and I shut my eyes,
just to feel blind,
then I open them again:
sad the day is the same,
relieved I’m still alone in it.

Slut Shaming

It was a wild one.
That much I know.
Now, first light of morning,
unclear how we arrived
in these unfamiliar surroundings,
clear on what happened though,
clearer still on the consequences
that await,
trying to be quiet,
I say out loud,
“You fucking slut,”
as I wash my face,
avoiding the mirror.