Ticket Taker Two

In October 2013, I posted a poem called "The Ticket Taker." I thought it was one of the better poems I'd written in a while. It got an okay response, not great. That happens; sometimes the posts I think will go over boffo make almost no impression on my audience, and sometimes I'm completely taken aback when what I consider a throwaway post goes over gangbusters.

I need to work on my self-appraisal.

But for whatever reason, over the last week or two, "The Ticket Taker" has gotten a pretty significant number of hits. You know, relative to the tiny (but awesome) readership this blog typically enjoys.

And you and you and you.

This makes me happy. As I said, I personally really enjoy this poem. And I hope whoever clicks on it finds something to enjoy about it, as well. 

I don't know if somewhere there's a link or a reference that is bringing people to this 15-month-old post. But whatever it is, I do appreciate it.

If you haven't stumbled across it, I thought I'd do you (and my ego) a favor and re-post the poem here.

Yeah, this is mostly for me. But I really and truly hope you like it.

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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.