Day to Day

My routine with the world
Barely changes.
From the time that it takes to drag
My heavy self out of bed,
To the milk I pour on my malted wheats,
To the bus that I amble past the course of
To the tram that crowds my platform.

Every morning I feel the waking ache
Of a hundred people
Sway with the groaning beast that carries us down the track.

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