I am tired, and in a Métro car

accelerating 15 minutes of walking distance
So that when I brake from the seat

I read on the recoil:
Châtelet

Hôtel de Ville
and then listen

for the generator and coughs

Like listening for your parents through a summer's night

the stations are empty

but for the brakes' burn and every wooden light
I sleep

fingering that holed mosquito net.
 

–

 
Even in a tunnel you'll leap at a snap

Caring afterwards

whether you threw water on the barbeque

the doors' locks clacked

or if the remaining calf in the gully paddock is

wandering
to forget

How you saw the edits

and then slept through your stop.