On a seven o'two
For Penn Station
She's a packed one
Never rode this one before
I don't think
Picking up speed
I've got an armrest in my side
Because I chose to sit
And the person next to me
Is a big boy
Passing brick and window
In the sun
Everything is different
Knowing that there is
Some true color
Or as true as we know it to be
Winter is leaving
Spring is
Picking
Up
Speed
Trees are bare
But there are traces
Of newborn fuzz
Sprouts for the doubters
That this train is moving
Leaving the station
At exactly
Seven o'two
Arriving Penn Station
At exactly
Seven forty-four
Exactly has a six minute window of error
In case you wanted to know
Just like spring has a habit
Of delaying the inevitable
Only it's never early
Always late
That is the way
This all works
Because everyone knows
It's better to be fashionably late
Because nobody likes to feel bad
About the heel who was early
Unless that heel truly enjoys being early
Which you can certainly tell
Within the first six minutes
After you arrive
Late pity parties
Are unacceptable
As is holding things like that
Over someone's head
It's just so last winter
--
4.15.08
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