Forgotten Ground Regained
The Commuter
Winner of the Cædmon Prize, 2016
Originally published in Withowinde 177, p. 10, Spring, 2016
I’m careworn weary,a faceless face ‧ in a flock of suits,a sullen shield-wall ‧ shifting homeward.From platform push ‧ to packed out train,crumpled in carriage, I’m careworn weary,enclosed by stress ‧ and collar white.My neck abraded, I need escape,bound to bosses – bondsman loyaltied by necktie ‧ tightly knotted,Oaths sworn to office ‧ unappreciated.The rails rumble, a rhythmic dirge,an uneasy echo ‧ of my empty life.then brakes biting ‧ break the song-spell:A squealing scream, shriek of ravens,slows to standstill ‧ our steel paved journey,this train of thralls, tired and jaded,that wait for word ‧ of what is wrong.The carriage carries ‧ its crowd nowhere.I crave comfort. I’m careworn weary.The guard gives ‧ a grim announcement:an obstruction struck, stopping all routes.Mute commuters ‧ make no complaint;a broken body ‧ blocks the home-path.My nerves ruined, I needed escape,but the austere mortgage ‧ stopped beside mewith finger fetters ‧ fast round my throat.Its threat a whispered, “I know where you live.”
Copyright © Martin Vine, 2015
No part of this site may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems