waiting on the last leg
it’s friday early evening
I wonder which will arrive first
the train ride home or impending rain
I’ve not an umbrella
still possess the morning paper
folded and tucked under my armpit
muted conversations
suddenly become animated
6:15 arriving like a lion enters spring
lightning chasing her tail
I notice my shoelace
a tug away from snapping in two
before standing tall
I take a chance and reach to retie
may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
