all the seats have been taken.
you are left standing behind
right where the men held you down
with their hands on your ankles,
on body parts you used to remember.
it used to hurt but you got used
as well. used to it
you lie still
and close your eyes
and pass through the motions
and pass through the turnstiles of tomorrow
with barely enough change for a return ticket
and wait for instructions like station timings
and elect, half-heartedly, acceptingly, the
leaders of your bullet-train world
for it was easier, I guess, to live a life led
than to have led a life to live.