a pink-haired woman
on the train to San Francisco
smiles at her phone
the joy is so pure
I still love humanity,
misguided as we are,
the slow-motion suicide
of our excesses
sexy as a pin-up girl
dragging on a cigarette.
all of us on this train
fighting sleep
writing conversations
speeding past
warehouses and auto-body shops
we will need more coffee
we will need each other
the pink-haired woman is gone
someone new is in her seat
I hope she is still happy