The man will take  your ticket,

And ask if you’re going home again.

Tell him no,

Then away you’ll go,

On the junkyard train.

It rides on only through rain,

Making you forget all about home,

And with each passenger,

It’ll do it again.

There’s a woman who says “I don’t know”

To every question that answers where to go.

There’s a man who’s smiles but cries,

Complaining that he can only tell happy lies.

There’s two twins that stand by his sides.

The boy twin will skip in place,

The girl twin will match his pace.

The oddest thing of all,

Just this mid-poem interval,

The inside of the train is filled with trash:

Crumpled paper, old cups, and ash.

Blue bags full of something black as coal,

Litter the seats as a whole.

Keep Your arms away from the doors with caution tape,

strewn in front of them like yellow mouths agape.

Bits of wood left on the floor will splinter your feet,

Be sure to keep shoes laced up all nice and neat.

Unless you want the dirt on the floors,

to sink into your foot’s pours,

and grant you dirty-footed bliss,

for a smudgy massage such as this.

Once you step off of the plain,

You find yourself home again.

And you won’t remember,

The friends you gain,