The Blind Commissioner

8:30 pm Friday, January 2010
The wind whips upon mounts of snow
Piled along the path, the moon is
High up in the sky competing with the stars
Icicles hang down from the roof
Ready to shoot the earth

An advertising board reads:
“Waiting for the perfect job to come along can be
almost as frustrating as waiting for the next train.”
Waiting for the train
On a freezing night is frustrating too.

9:00 pm Friday, January 2010
The wind still whips. My toes are numb
My iPod plays Bob Dylan singing
‘Here comes the blind commissioner
They’ve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tightrope walker
The other is in his pants…”

Then a pigeon
Lands on the advertising board,
Coos for while and poops
The pigeon shit runs down
Erases ‘t’ from train
Train becomes rain.

I am the blind commissioner
That Dylan sings about
Waiting for the next train
In cold trance