Insane?

She talks to the trees, calls to the birds,

Gathers the trampled fruit from the sidewalk,

And throws it into a crumpled plastic bag.

She pauses, smiles and breaks into a song,

And waits for others to pass by,

As she hauls mindfully her cart piled with clothes and cans,

While he rushes past children and bystanders,

Looking straight ahead, oblivious of his surroundings,

Yet watchful of his white clothes and polished shoes,

He shrieks an expletive as he steps on a fallen fig

And squirms hurriedly through the crowd,

Runs down the platform, and grabs

The door of a stuffed moving train.

He is the normal one and I am told she is insane.

And what else did they tell me that was true?

The Cycle

He would definitely be there.

The email said so.

It even said that the train station

Was near where he worked.

Now, almost everyone was gone, and

I was tired of gazing down the corridor,

Hoping for a glimpse of someone familiar,

And three full hours had passed.

The smart phone only led me to his voicemail

Did he forget?

Or was this some rude joke?

I pushed the metal buttons on the ticket machine, and

“One-way ticket to San Jose”, it said,

And the coins clanked in conclusion

Of this lesson of disappointment.

As the train whistled out of the station

I started to wonder.

Did I just leave someone behind?