The End of the Line - Rich Meyers

[Larry Robinson]

The End of the Line

They never had much reality
nor do I remember believing
in them. I assumed they were
meant for other people and I
liked the French twist that called
them cliches. This stock of ragged
sayings have often to do with ageing
and we rummage through them like
old clothes, assuming that whether large
or small they will eventually fit. Does a
creaky elevator take the old dog down to 
the floor where he can't learn new tricks? 
Is youth really wasted on the young or 
does energy restlessly want to experience 
a later stage? Who says that all things 
come to an end? Anyone who's been on 
a crowded train knows that the rails that 
carry our bodies past nameless stations 
go on and on forever. At life's end they say
there's a bucket to kick, a farm to buy and 
a maker you must meet. 
     We listen all our lives to this babble that 
doesn't care for ambiguity except for the one
where death waits until some obscure fat lady
sings. Idiotic idioms set up the language props
for unremarkable dramas with the same ending,
hammering the nails in, putting imagination on
hold. My ears tune into rhythm of the train riding
rails that speak of continuous journey. I believe
in an interminable soul but it makes no difference
to others. Mortality may eavesdrop on my sense
of time and sooner or later somebody will nudge
me insisting that the next stop is where I must get
off. Being foolish and accommodating, I will grab my 
bags and step down on a vacant platform with no
village or hotel in sight.

      - Rich Meyers