The Morning Train

I don't run for the morning train
I'm not sure where it goes.

I will not ride the evening boat
To where the river flows.

My post piles up beneath the slot,
My sloth is well exposed.

I rummage for a clean T-shirt,
I've bins of dirty clothes.

I can't get up to meet the sun
That's when my eyes must close.

I'm scouring for a fresh tea bag
It's not the life I chose.

I'm stranded here in the desert,
One night I nearly froze.

My phone won't ring, won't ding-a-ling,
I've crushed it with my toes.

I'm sure they're trying to find me,
They've questions they must pose.

I'm lost incommunicado
Until the poetry shows.