Commuting is a pain. Crowded trains, delays, the time spent doing it even when things are running on time and, of course, the money. The journey from my house to my office is approximately 150 miles. It’s very expensive and it isn’t fun. Luckily for me I won’t be doing it for much longer.
One day this summer it was particularly warm, and the train was particularly crowded. As the train filled up and the people who’d taken advantage of the sunny afternoon staggered about and a couple of them fell over bookworm brain got to thinking of Madame Bovary. Her unhappiness with routine and need for something less ordinary becomes a little tiresome in the novel, but what would happen if she was dropped into our world, onto a commuter train going to the same place and doing the same thing day in, day out.
“She wanted to die, but she also wanted to [commute to] Paris.”
This poem is for her and, of course, Gustave.
Every morning I stand on the train
Face pressed into a stranger’s armpit
And late, every day
Every day I say good morning
To everyone I pass
How are you?
Fine thanks you?
You’re late, every day
Every time my coffee is cold
Made by my assistant
For the time I should have arrived
Milky clouds floating in the top
Swirling circles, every day
Every email is pointless
The to do list looks the same
I’ve never understood the term dead end job
This is a roundabout
Going in circles every day
Oh to be someone else
Why must life be so tedious?
What a wonderful thing it would be
To live a different life
A different life
Every single day
Copyright, D M Day, 2016