The sign flashes, Atlanta departs in five minutes
New York in ten, she's already on the train
For California
The station echoes the quiet murmurs
Of a hundred whispered conversations
Everyone's racing somewhere
I'm sitting here
Wondering what might have happened
If I'd arrived an hour before
Or a few years, there's something here
Besides the bustle of the distracted crowd
I open up the plastic wrapper
Eat my turkey and rye
And walk home again
To be alone again
Sleep and dream of something different
Show up late every day
To the same station
Wondering if I might catch the train I missed
The day I didn't kiss her
Goodbye.
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