Just like lawn mowers machete over innocent grassland,
the trains in Mr. Mallory’s city grated along their metallic tracks,
tearing through all atoms of stillness to set a pace for the day
Standing on the platform
Mr. Mallory rested his arm across the length of his flappy leather satchel
and analyzed the concrete
He’d detested this day since the night before.
He hated every one of the days that required him to depart his dreams
and embrace his duty
Secretly
he dubbed each said afternoon
“Garbage Day”
He boarded the train, keeping his eyes down
feeling sure he could achieve his goal of bypassing this obligatory journey
by not accepting it
Long ago, Mr. Mallory swallowed a fate he believed was inevitable
and resigned himself to fantasies severely watered down
But he protected this flavorless imagination with a ferocity to rival fact,
determined to rule them both
Out the window
he watched blurred rectangles zoom by
and heard nothing except the vibrating hardware of the train,
the pulsing hum of alloyed steel and speed
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