Missed the train,
went home, lay down
miserable at having to wait
until tomorrow for the next one;
your hair kept growing,
nails too; it wasn’t
the end of the world.

You just became a bigger person;
then again, you would have
gotten bigger anyway
if you’d been able to go. 

Missed the train, missed
the colors of leaves
and and shapes
of stations along the way,
the scent of the man
seated across the aisle; 
trickles of conversation
now and then leaking by;
your nose would
have opened up, maybe
your eyes might have startled 
into new visions, maybe
an overheard word would have
cut you or stitched you;

then again, nothing
can stop you from being
all that while you are parked here
in your bed or on your couch
while waiting out the day
and evening and night
waiting for the next train.

You’ll be OK; maybe
bigger, maybe your glucose levels
will change for the worse;
maybe you’ll be the next obituary
someone learns about through
social media. Maybe not.

It’s the next day
of the rest of your life as
the asshole prognosticators
like to call it. Or it’s Tuesday,
the day after you missed the train
you were counting on
to change everything, and nothing’s
changed.

No matter
to any of that. You are OK
right now. Stand close
to yourself as you are.
Let it wash you clean.