Riding the Train to New York

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By Dianne Moritz

Sailors in starched whites,
Jostling, joking, bumming
Cigarettes, whistle as I pass.
Young mothers, beside cranky
Children, seem wistful.
Old men glance up
From newspapers, smile
As I pass with my tall,
Handsome boyfriend.
We find our seats.
I reach for his hand.
He shakes me off
Like a smoldering ash,
Leans back to nap.
I turn away, fuming.

When I gaze out,
Into the dark glass,
A panicked stranger
Stares back.

           
Dianne Moritz enjoys capturing brief moments in time, celebrating trials, tribulations, and beauty of life. She dreams of publishing a book of all her drabble.

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