They are old,

they are young,

they are middle.

They dress in all grey colors;

neither black nor white,

just faded shades of

everything.

They sit in the train station

and watch TV or sleep;

they don’t take the train.

The trains come and go

 every hour and on the half.

The people dump out in gabbling gobs then,

get sucked back in through

clanging metal doors.

The men sit and stare;

happy couples run and grab each other,

then say teary farewells.

Teens, in groups, walk arm in arm,

 chattering parakeets.

The men sit with stony expressions.

People drink coffee and eat ice cream.

The stores open and close,

 the people go home.

The men sit;

they don’t take the train.

2/11

cew