Poetry: "Commuter"
Who are all the anonymous people on the Metra? Wearing black coats against the Chicago cold, Bundled against the b-r-r. The train perambulates forward, Rattling over the antediluvian tracks, And the people in their midnight overstuffed down coats, Look like black Pillsbury doughboys from hell. Coats black as night, black as cold, black as sin, These Chicagoans, these working-hard-nose-to-the-lodestone grinders, Their faces blank, fixating ahead, Faces like blackboards that a