The last train is nearly due,
The underground is closing soon,
In the dark deserted station,
Restless in anticipation,
A man waits in the shadows.
His restless eyes leap and scratch,
At all that they can touch or catch,
Hidden deep within his pocket,
Safe within its silent socket,
He holds his colored crayon.
Now from the tunnel's stony womb,
The carriage rides to meet the groom,
And opens wide and welcome doors,
But he hesitates, then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows.
And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany,
And he holds his crayon Rosary
Tighter in his hand.
Now from his pocket quick he flashes,
The crayon on the wall he slashes,
Deep upon the advertising,
A single worded poem comprised
Of four letters.
And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding,
The poem across the tracks rebounding,
Shadowed by the exit light,
His legs take their ascending flight,
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night.
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