i spend a lot of time on public transportation...with that, comes inspiration for poems like this...
riding on a run down train.
seats torn,
floors covered in grime,
and the smell of stale sweat and piss reek from the walls.
I'm heading deep into the southern suburbs.
seemingly on route to no man's land.
nevertheless, one simple fact still remains;
you can always find a beautiful woman on board.
it is one day after having suffered a concussion
from falling off the hammock in my living room,
and here I am,
drinking the local beer from a tall can,
and traveling on a run-down train.
I pass the rotted Riachuelo river,
as the conductor comes around collecting tickets,
punching two small holes to verify that I paid my seventy cents to ride this train. between the first and second stop the train fills up with smoke.
people from the villas are burning leaves,
garbage,
and other elements which make the inside of the train smell even worse.
my destination is a lab that makes drugs for animals.
there I must meet someone whose English level is quite good.
it is my job to verify this.
meanwhile, the train ride continues.
I see a dead chicken by the side of the tracks as I pass more villas
as I finish my first can of beer
and pull out another from my backpack.
third stop.
there is a beautiful girl sitting in front of me.
she is the one that lent me the pen to get all this down.
two cops pass by and look at me suspiciously; ME!
I can only see the back of the girl's head
and gaze at the beauty of the color of her hair.
I smell more rotted odors.
as I pass a playground with no playing children.
the train's whistle blows loud.
I hear a thump under the train and on the rails.
meanwhile, I look for some beauty in the back of the girl's head.
I can only see one quarter of her face,
notice her right ear,
a small red mole,
a dark blond eyebrow and a couple of eyelashes
as she turns to look out the window.
her thin shoulder and her arm rest on the window ledge.
she looks really good.
I am a writer,
an English teacher,
a drunk and hunter of hidden beauty.
I live off what I say,
drinking from what I make,
and thriving off great shitty train rides like this.
Poetry by paul perry
Read 285 times
Written on 2010-02-08 at 18:21
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train ride through the suburbs
Train ride through the suburbsriding on a run down train.
seats torn,
floors covered in grime,
and the smell of stale sweat and piss reek from the walls.
I'm heading deep into the southern suburbs.
seemingly on route to no man's land.
nevertheless, one simple fact still remains;
you can always find a beautiful woman on board.
it is one day after having suffered a concussion
from falling off the hammock in my living room,
and here I am,
drinking the local beer from a tall can,
and traveling on a run-down train.
I pass the rotted Riachuelo river,
as the conductor comes around collecting tickets,
punching two small holes to verify that I paid my seventy cents to ride this train. between the first and second stop the train fills up with smoke.
people from the villas are burning leaves,
garbage,
and other elements which make the inside of the train smell even worse.
my destination is a lab that makes drugs for animals.
there I must meet someone whose English level is quite good.
it is my job to verify this.
meanwhile, the train ride continues.
I see a dead chicken by the side of the tracks as I pass more villas
as I finish my first can of beer
and pull out another from my backpack.
third stop.
there is a beautiful girl sitting in front of me.
she is the one that lent me the pen to get all this down.
two cops pass by and look at me suspiciously; ME!
I can only see the back of the girl's head
and gaze at the beauty of the color of her hair.
I smell more rotted odors.
as I pass a playground with no playing children.
the train's whistle blows loud.
I hear a thump under the train and on the rails.
meanwhile, I look for some beauty in the back of the girl's head.
I can only see one quarter of her face,
notice her right ear,
a small red mole,
a dark blond eyebrow and a couple of eyelashes
as she turns to look out the window.
her thin shoulder and her arm rest on the window ledge.
she looks really good.
I am a writer,
an English teacher,
a drunk and hunter of hidden beauty.
I live off what I say,
drinking from what I make,
and thriving off great shitty train rides like this.
Poetry by paul perry
Read 285 times
Written on 2010-02-08 at 18:21
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