JERKWATER TRAIN

I wrote a short poem for my boss in here 10th year anniversary with the company. So you’ve been here for many a year; do you know what you’re doing dear? Although sometimes you shed a tear, through it all you had a cheer. By golly, we’re glad you’re here. Have a holly ten-year with a beer. Literary critique is welcome; however, I could only spare ten minutes to write this and, therefore, to display my foolish babbling. Publish and be abominated.

We are all refugees on this earth, metaphorically speaking: we can all feel forlornly when the light has dimmed and the sky has shrunk upon us, feeling there is no way to go—this is it. But then there comes hope marching on, illuminating the loneliness of the heart and making it whole; and irrigating the desert of despair, turning it into green landscapes quilted with flowers in the sweet air. And then the broken heart may heal. Hope is what we need; for it's silly not to hope.

With brilliant architecture and alluring entertainment and a constellation of charms, Chicago is not just a mere big city with a large population, it's not any old city, it's an amazing city. When you glance at the resolute faces of the fast-moving hunks of bodies in the streets and between the towers of the city, where you're afforded public-privacy in their steely eyes looking through you and pretending not to see you, appreciation of their mannerism and loneliness strike you. Judgement day, or so it seems, is in the hair of the hour. And you feel nothing. To be continued. ... I'm tired and my mind has stopped. This is work in progress. ONLY a DRAFT.