The train clatters along the tracks.
It is a horse on a course.
Of course, it races around in circles,
never reaching the finish line.
Lines on my face give me character,
although if you believe that,
I can sell you a bridge.
The Brooklyn Bridge.
The bridge of my nose is only
good for resting my glasses.
Don’t break the glass
unless it’s a real emergency,
or you’ll open a can of worms.
Didn’t your mother train you?
The train clatters along the tracks.
published in Medium
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