17.41 Poem by sherrie tappenden

you don't know but
when you are at your busiest,
filled with
papers,
schedules,
pens,
sillouhetted against
a window
in shirt sleeves
amid the shafts of
dust laden sunlight,
making that call.
inhaling the day.
swallowing warm
quick food,
warm coffee,
warm water.
fingers gripped behind
your head, one
pulling against the other.
curled into the
back of your neck
warm and damp.
sweating on the crowded train.
elbows in.
newspaper folded
small.
rackety-rack dozes.
cheek against hand.
head against the plush crust.
urine yellow flashlights
for a second.
jolting you back.
clackety-clack.
stick against stone.
taking you home.
taking you home.
I am thinking of you.
but you don't know.