A whistle blows.
"ALL ABOARD"
Yells the driver,
Moustache bristling
Like well groomed brush.
He'll be home soon...

I search my bag,
Looking for the ticket
I stuffed in there
Back at home.
It must be in there.
I hope he has his keys this time...

It's like a frantic game
Of blind man's buff.
My fingers brush against
The leathery skin
Of my purse,
Wrinkled receipts,
Recoil from the hungry teeth
Of my comb.
I hope he's alright...

At last!
Like finding water
In a desert void of hope.
I breath out.
I brandish my ticket,
Clutching it
Like a hard-won prize.
Will he have enough to eat?

The ticket man
studies my ticket,
As if searching
For a hidden
Message
That only he knows
To look for.
I think I left enough food in the house...

At last, begrudgingly,
He hands it over
Muttering to himself,
As if I were the one taking
Something from him.
He waves me through.
Maybe I ought to have gone shopping...

I hurry up endless steps,
Through crowds of people.
I hope I'm not late.
I glance at the clock
3:24
He should be back from school by now...

I surface from the stairs
Like a fish leaping from water,
I look so out of place
With all my bags
And my tired face
What will he do when he notices I'm gone?

I dive through families,
Wade through children,
Excusing myself as I go.
My bags trail behind me like
The tentacles of a
Jellyfish,
I'm trying not to sting people.
I left him a note...

It said:
You'll be home soon,
So I'll write this quickly.
I hope you have your keys...
You'll be alright.
You should have enough to eat,
Didn't think to go shopping.
How was school?
Good, I hope.
Goodbye, my son

I used to make
Thoughtless decisions,
But not anymore.

I jump as
The driver yells again
Just nerves
"ALL ABOARD THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT"

Slightly different, you might notice I like to write poems that are a bit open-ended (you can make your own mind up about what they're about)
It varies...
Holly x