Station Rats

A Poem by michaelbourne

Random bit about the teens that lurk around T stations growing up in Boston

Heavy heads hug cold metal, Prison gray pocked;
sprayed with a vandal's mind.
Shadowbox victories and scraping soles,
sounds of spit smoke and “S**t!”
Embellished groans of recent nightly woes.
                The train is coming.

Debrief of yesterday’s debauchery
The weight scatters fresh gravel against rusted steel ;
Old eyes relish in the reminder of youth, some met
with fearful sneers. Age pushed back in its respective haze
                The train is coming.

Piss perfume and scat splat playgrounds.
Wiry blondes dangling from station steel,
swinging freely with the passing week-
fathers silhouettes loom-Hanging on support beams,
Dangling above the transient wanderers
curdling their bottles and wasted ticket.
The train is coming.

Nostalgic jeering boys- idly oblivious .
The soon to be tailored, Retched and rattled by the vibrating
heavy hissing demon screaming their way.
The solace splinters, the image of beauty decays.
                The Train is coming.