Poetry (words)

Still Sunday

From the train window I see trampolines sprouting from every back yard. Keeping up with the Joneses, is a matter of how high you bounce. Hideous objects, like a cage of the modern age. The landfill of future generations. 

The football banter from the seat behind, tedious conversation. The copy and paste dialogue from every side. There’s no earplug invented to drown out that drone. Timeless warriors sponsored by Sky. 

I focus on my destination and how the calm will wash away these knotted limbs. The second stop is mine, just a platform to conquer and a ticket machine to feed. 

I can smell the sea air as my signal falls away to this blissful release. 


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