THIS TRAIN

Image result for train car where people read books

My office is this train,

Squealing into Pittsburgh, again, and again.

I began my Ph.D.

When she stopped loving me.

We had an affair; we rode the train,

And hid in parks, kissing again, and again.

When I get to work I turn my computer on

To  begin my work: the green lawn

Where once we lay

May stir my memory for the better part of a day.

I write poems when the boss is away.

I don’t care if I earn a degree.

I’m a scholar in why she stopped loving me.

Nothing is methodical except as it pertains

To my poetry, as the rest of the world strains.

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