Forest Hill Station
Yasemin Balandi
Junkies line up by the infant day;
Insomniac, achnied.
Conductors speak in tongues
Banal, hackneyed.
A graffito declares peace
On the weeping walls
In magenta and peach
Another declares "Love is phat!"
The ceiling above is laced
With pigeon mess
Passengers greet each other
Talk about weather forecast
Our beloved Forest Hill Station:
With your quirks and
Amusing history
(For your tracks were
Water carriers once)
We love you dearly.
More Poetry Atlas works about Forest Hill.
