What the train-people carry


I do my best people watching
on the train to Tokyo.
Like The Matrix
I’m jacked into

By Minato-Mirai
the seats are all taken.
on their way
on their way home

Each one tells a story
what they wear
what they carry.
A teenager carts her tennis rackets
in a bag bigger than a four-year-old.
A young boy in knee-high socks
carries a stiff leather backpack
filled with boredom
and other burdens.
A grey suited salary man clutches
a briefcase of exhaustion.
On the other side of the train
sits a row of black shoe sorrows.

Never enough time.
Never enough.

An old man
met my gaze.

An actual old man
with actual grey hair.
as many Japanese
colour their hair
until they die.}

Not quite a smile
but a connection.
No smart phones between us.

He carried nothing
but has everything
he needs.

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