11:55AM on a Workday
by Fanz Hugo

It’s five to twelve,
when the station goes
ephemerally silent
with walking ghosts.

Even musicians take
the moment to enjoy
yet another prelude
to the instant chaos.

AM to PM sounds
like a huge shift,
like from night to day.
Nothing happens.

Not much chitchat
aboard the train.
Two young women
talk loudly. Don’t care.

One elder woman
takes her nap,
looking up whenever
the voiceover starts.

The next station
is High Park,
where the sakura trees
are dying of old age.

If I was a writer,
I’d tell the story
of their afterlives
in Japanese.

Waiting is the only
condolence that seems
to matter for now,
here at the station.

{END}

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