Express, baggage and all...

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I'd imagine myself

in all sorts of strange

and interesting situations,

a veritable Where's

Waldo popping up

in sequential frames.


Selecting one

to counteract

the predicament

I found myself in,

it served to lift me

out of a depression

in my inner landscape,

temporarily displacing 

my fears and anxieties.


I speak of this now

because my options

are folding in on themselves 

like the worn and tattered

map of a far-off country

I can no longer afford to visit.


Waldo stands on the platform

riffling through his pockets

for a ticket he never bought

in case I happen to look

his way. He tries to

fit in, be part of the scene.


See how pathetic he is

under all that

mute adaptability?

He thinks he's doing me

a huge favour acting

so bland and absorbent:

A gawky human sponge.


Suck it up, Waldo.

This is the last of the gravy.

Soon you'll be required

to stay within a tiny, static

frame of reference,

one in which it will be impossible

to lose yourself.


Travel vouchers will be denied

to all denizens of my imagination,

and that, old friend,

includes you.


When the station closes

down at night,

those who couldn't make it

onto the train will be dragged,

kicking and screaming,

to the edge of the tracks

and pushed into the path

of the oncoming express,

baggage and all.


Your only hope

would be to will yourself

onto that train, Waldo,

but you and I both

know you are incapable

of self-determination.

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