Train at six fifteen
the bottle is empty like a well of wishes
without a single drop and a coin
nigh is spent and dawn I wait
a pub called Dawn is my home
foggy-headed that evening
resting my head on my elbows
as I'm sitting alone at my table
and now they are all mine because no one is there
except for me and the old bartender
who is napping across from me
dozes and mumbles
don't break glasses, gentlemen
for thirty years I put up with you all
yes, yes thirty
and I address you as gentlemen
bartender is waiting for his shift at six
the pub works like a hospital twenty-four-seven
in three shifts
and he is on the hardest shift
I'm waiting for the train at six fifteen
he dreams of a shift change
there is no one to replace me
I look into the bottle as if into a well of wishes
I wish that train never leaves
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Author:
falcon_mn (
Offline) - Published: January 31st, 2024 08:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
- User favorite of this poem: Tom C Dylan.
Offline)
Comments2
There's something really captivating about the feel of this poem. Really enjoyed.
Thanks Tom
I really like a lot this bottled philosophy !
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