Beautifully evocative writing from the amazing Lois E. Linkins.
raindrops tremble like a shoal of fish,
clinging to the cold glass of the window.
the black arm of the wiper
sweeps the unlucky few
to drip down into the smoky grate.
it plays a rhythm against the glass,
squeaking and shuddering
like a factory.
it is dark outside.
it gets dark early now, as the coldness
tall trees batter my window
with their thick, violent branches
as we trundle past,
our gaudy blue and yellow interior
offensive to the rich green
of the woods.
get out of here, the trees shout.
leave us in peace,
we do not want you.
muddy footprints have splattered the floor,
marks left by earlier passengers.
retreating into artificial warmth
for a little respite
against the frozen air,
they are spluttered out again
just as their fingers and toes
begin to thaw.
nobody notices me.
i have sat for hours now, in…
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