The 5:35 p.m.

by Mary Higgins

Sitting on the platform, waiting for the train, 

Far from my favorite past-time, I consider it a strain. 

Wasted time is how I view it, and furthermore, I freeze! 

Clothed just like an Eskimo to protect me from a breeze.

Crammed in little boxes that roll on wheels of steel, 

people coming home from work, so hungry for a meal.   

Most everyone’s exhausted;it’s rare when someone talks

Passengers are resting, as the train car gently rocks.

The start of evening song as the day comes to a close 

Each passenger embarking, waking from a simple doze. 

To me it’s like a lullaby with pauses on the way 

A cadence that is slowing, the close of another day.

Mary Higgins Ⓒ 2015