I’m late

In the distance I see
Dozens of birds
Perched atop houses,
Waiting for the first sun
To melt the dew,
To warm the air,
While one, solitaire
Flies in circles
And my eyes drift along.
I wonder —
Might it be a predator,
Or is it just a bird
Who enjoys being free?

The clock above the platform
Where I and a hundred others
Solemnly but patiently wait
For a train that will bring us
From our comfort places
To our places of need,
Tells me
I’m late.

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