A Philosophy for Train-Waiting

The fingers pledge a palm allegience
grasping small and heavy objects
the hand enjoys a helthy clench
projecting that shape into the future.

When food is on a plate on the table
in front of my eyes and nose
I see with my stomach growling
and mouth supposing it is hungry.

The foot has desires unknown
to the knee or to the hip
its grasp of turn and bump subtle
prevents a tripping up of brain.

Children have an apprehension
far better than big people’s
for the use and non-use of toys
the happiness and pain of noise.

My senses go beyond my smell
I have a sense of sitting still
a sense of when a split is due
between the glue and what is stuck.

Is the page numbered, the day done?
I feel that in my third thumb.
Is home coming, the train lumbering
into dinnertime? I’m there.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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