Late as always, the boy finds his way
and boards the moving train.
He moves to an open spot,
and sits beside Chance,
. . . or was her name Coincidence?
Curious anyways the boy glances over,
noticing her calling eyes,
and selfish smile,
. . . just asking to be caught.
Was this that game he heard so much about?
or just two people playing Solitare?
Feeling a little optimistic,
the boy keeps pretending,
but saying anything would be a calculated risk.
One cannot help but notice,
how this conversation was molded,
by the same men who built these tracks.
And one cannot help but wonder,
how the scenery can be passing them by,
and they can be standing in one place.
So he heads to the exit and escapes,
to his trusty scapegoat, “Well maybe next time.”
Because this is his stop,
so he’s getting off.