Last Train
on Sheila Ash (India), 30/Jun/2018 06:08, 34 days ago
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Photo byStefan Stefancikfrom Pexels under a Creative Commons Zero (CC0) licenseThe last train chugs out of the unmanned, mid-line stationsix quiet, overnight hours till it returns, cleaned up,upholstery brushed up, plushed up for the morning rush.Last from the train, I make my way slowly whileother passengers scurry homeward to waiting arms and warm beds.My sleeping bag’s would-be warmth cold in my backpack.The big city lights had called me from the valleys with possibilitiesof contacts and contracts, of fortune and fame.Instead, I busk by day and brave the lonely nights.Found moons ago, my bench lies hidden,safe from weather and prying eyes - a place to rest,a place to forget the hardship of the dying day.My last coins secured my sax. Its left-luggage luxuryfar removed from where I settle down to dream the dream- aspiring to greatness and celebrity, recording lights and playing Wembley.In the morning I will rise, retrace my steps, collect my sax,busk another day along my track to stardomhoping coins tossed into its case facilitate tomorrow night’s return to my safe suburban space.© Sheila Ash, 2018ashramblings
