In which Your Humble Blogger deals in apathy, detachment, and the end of the world as we know it. Happy Wednesday!
"The Southbound 'F' Express"
It was the moment of the Rapture, the unraveling of the world, and like many other trains, the southbound 'F' express was experiencing a delay. Most of the passengers were used to interruptions in the 'F' train's service, so few of them looked up from their newspapers out the window and saw the fissures newly formed in the earth's crust. Few removed their headphones to tremble at the horn song of triumph billowing from Heaven's doors, and few considered the smell anything more powerful than the usual fumes of humans packed closely together. Among those who did notice the Rapture, several pressed against the windows and took pictures to show their friends. The rest pushed their way to the conductor, who had collapsed in a puddle of tears beside the metal doors, and insisted that there must be something he could do to help them; there really was somewhere they were supposed to be.
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Inspired by, of all things, a particularly strong smell of sulfur on the Metra one day. Despite such a pleasant association, I think I'd like to clean this poem up and keep it around; if nothing else, it helps me envision the torment that awaits the seat-mate whose personal belongings keep crowding into everyone else's space. >;)
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