Tuesday, October 15, 2013

The Ticket Taker

The Ticket Taker
by Chuck Baudelaire

This may be what wiser men call fate
Or stronger women name destiny.
Perhaps they spoke together in smoky whispers
At the fire
When everyone was asleep
And passed judgment on the rest of us.

Maybe you and I slept through their verdict.

And you - fellow traveler, stranger,
Not my companion, nor seatmate, nor friend
But only one whose papers are scarred with the same
Soft warm wax as mine -
Cling to my side because there is no other space.
We breathe as if in time yet not in time,
Sharing a destination but not a journey.

I curse every stop
That is not where I planned to be.
You stare empty-eyed at the cloying tourist landmarks.
We are mismatched and disparate.
You are not what I signed on for.
Yet I can only imagine how far I stray
From the carefully mapped coordinates of your dreams.

It's good that we lack knives
Or aspirations
With which to damage one another.
We will ride silently to the end of the line
With our eyes averted,
Perhaps diverted
To a book we brought along
In case the journey dragged on.

Take care not to step on the grass
When you alight.
It doesn't know you mean it no harm.

1 comment:

You're thinking it, you may as well type it. The only comments you'll regret are the ones you don't leave. Also, replies to threads make puppies grow big and strong.