Wednesday, July 10, 2013
I board the rail
Each morning when I board the rail
I crawl inside and hide.
I want to gouge out the hunger that
bulges in their wide dead eyes.
Side to side we sway and I
chug short breaths in and out
suck deep until transported
home to curry, rains and chai.
Inside out the beggar child's
dead eyes crawl up my legs
and I scratch and swipe
at hunger that can't be fed
while I ride the rail
contracted labor far from home
where my family pays another's wages.
Here my young wife prepares
our meals at home an old woman
would pack my eggs in foil.
Here I'm indentured servant
in my father's house favored son.
Here my mansion has four rooms
at home servants clean our dishes
iron our clothes and make our
Every morning I board the rail
and smother the screaming inside my head
push down my birthright and comfort
and tuck my own hunger that can't be fed
I can't have seen in my dead wide eyes.
I want to scratch until they bleed.
I'm apprehensive about this one because I'm not sure if the viewpoint comes off authentic. Two, I realize how much I'm attached to concrete images. Lastly even when I ramble I need to order. Ack. Critique and observations welcome. Kerry challenged us to write a Rhapsody inspired piece. Join us.