The boy sits alone
while the carriage fills
around him. It's a V-line,
a long haul, thundering
into morning.
Barely legible,
a chipped sign fades
and Violet Town falls away.
He retreats to a paperback
kingdom, while oblivious
wheels devour miles.
Sometimes his eyes rise
to watch the landscape
grind from here to there.
Terminus halogen holds the night
at bay as a voiceover calls
passengers awake.
At journey's end,
crisp air whispers
possibility. Behind him,
doors hiss shut. Ahead,
a turnstile beckons.
Ryan Stone
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