she sat, we sat, i sat
on the train... wondering
why we were in iowa... laughing
at old mens pickup lines...
and she-males getting high...
at other stuff too lame
to mention here.
i thought, she thought, we thought
of everything that went wrong
with being born in the second week
of a stubborn october
thoughts of past, linking together
as one story to the next...
i guess no one ever knows
who you'll run into on a train
so cassie, here's the poem
i said i would write you
on that second week
in a stubborn september
it's a poem about us
and that wierd bed-headed guy
(well that really doesn't pertain)
um... where was i?
ah, yes! poetry is the poetry
of a train ride thru the corn
we cry hug and giggle...
and a friendship is born.
Copyright 2005 by pauly hart
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