Poem – Fields and Factories

Fields and factories

Fields and factories pass,

as I gaze into the grey plastic spine of a dejected chair.

Hot air spews from the vents to the left of me,

and from the woman to the right of me

telephone conversations spoken loudly

competing with keys tapped like hi-hats

I live in my own space with headphones

plugged into nothing,

as fields and factories pass.

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