by DREW COLLINS - September 14, 2021
Traveling, an endless fixture
awaiting tracks not there—
not all junctions need courses,
but her tickets always sell.
A picture-perfect interior,
cleaned, swept, and dusted,
lacking spirits and friends,
porcelain saucers, fragile yet clean,
crystal spires hanging from her chandeliers,
glimmering and dazzling,
perfect and exceptionally clean.
Passengers, along with specters,
walking and congregating,
leaving her cabins cleaner than found.
Travelers aren't as kind to her skin,
tattooed and dried,
rusting away her perfect metallic coating,
with dirty cracking paint,
damaging her body,
eyes, hair, teeth,
her stains and dirtiness,
driving away those who can’t see.
She remains an unattractive woman,
who’s seemingly beautiful
and accepts her title—
Graffiti Steel Train.