the train
full of faces
in the windows. sleepy
with time
on their
hands.
papers folded in
their laps,
off to work
on this Monday
morning.
you see them stare
at you
as the train
crosses the trestle
and blows
it's horn.
you don't wave,
though some wave
to you.
you let the sun
fall onto your face.
you have no
trains to catch
today. your day
is yours.
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