amtrak

amtrak
You run. Streaks of streamers
flicking like pennants from your past.
Your punishment smiles
half-amused, half-mastedly back,
chalking three more marks to misery
and one more screeching fingernail
across the board.

There's no denial here, baby.
It was all too good for you to feel.
Even the streamers lost their wind.
Your need to be
unneeded

claims its victory,
pockets its commission
and sparkles
like shopworn sequins
dropped through slatted crates of
could-have bins.


Mia Moore