On a commuter train –
Track 4 – kind of blue, living in
the rhythm of wheels on the rails,
the muted horn at the crossings.
Heading into the city for the night;
got no money but so what? I’m going
miles from our last conversation.
The train soothes my angry
nerves. Thinking back to a ride,
years ago, I took on the Wabash run.
Ate at Eugenia’s, where we met.
You picked up the bill as the pianist
played Blue In Green.
The rhythm soothes my jagged
nerves. A bebop run soars in my head.
I’ll call when I arrive.