Stationary

I stand on the platform waiting for the train,
while the bells toll from the cathedral tower,
a cloud of pigeons begins to flap and flutter,
shaken from their nests in the eaves and arches.

While the bells toll from the cathedral tower,
the faithful congregate and flock to Sunday mass,
shaken from their nests in the eaves and arches,
it’s a reflexive response, a ritual of existence.

The faithful congregate and flock to Sunday mass,
while from Monday to Friday they trudge into work,
it’s a reflexive response, a ritual of existence,
an attempt to navigate the Skinner’s Box of mass transit.

While from Monday to Friday they trudge into work,
they are herded like cattle, crowded on to the train,
an attempt to navigate the Skinner’s Box of mass transit,
and the 7:09 West bound local arrives and then departs.

They are herded like cattle crowded on to the train,
a cloud of pigeons begins to flap and flutter,
and the 7:09 West bound local arrives and then departs,
I stand on the platform waiting for the train.