Bacchanals

Last train
Near the end of Line 9
A Wednesday night
Dark and grey and cold outside
Neon bright, pissy green
And sad underneath
Train’s almost empty
There’s this kid, white, not hungry
20 y.o. maybe
He’s having a tough time
Too many drinks he can’t handle
Too much drugs he can’t handle
He burps
Then heaves all over the car
And it keeps coming
Like a hiccup
Once he’s finally done
Miracle
The kid falls asleep
Finally calm on his seat
I get off at the last station
Let him in there
At worst
Some guy will find him at the depot
Call Police
And he’ll spend the night in the tank
At best
He’ll wake up
Somewhere along Line 9
At 5 or 6 am
Going the other way