Draining the city

It's Friday and the hoards are fleeing the city. They are all there; The young lady sobbing quietly in her seat, The homey subdued without his crew but with blood on his hands (what's up with that?!) The young executive wanna be still pouring over the last Blackberry messages The grubby cyclist trying to get some warmth between ride segments The cute young couple being glared at by the $800 suit The middle aged worker, tired beyond words from the long week (maybe a long weekend ahead...) Packed like sardines in the colorful tube rumbling steel on steel until Freedom at last as they depart silent but with purpose Spreading like the waves left behind a stone Skipping across smooth water Each to their own, riding their own waves Disbursing into their lives, thinning as they go Alone together as I watch them/us all depart I am melancholy today, wrought with cold Wishing I could hear the Grinding of my chain on the gears Forward, carrying me forward on Thin rubber tubes, a small cushion in a big world A big cushion in a small life, no smaller than anyone else’s But toiling away in the gears of the corporate machine Leaves me feeling small and wanting My gears where I can choose When to shift and make progress When to brake and breathe in life's splendor When to make no progress at all and Be propelled forward for the choice It’s Friday and I have fled the city I am all here; My quiet sobbing for life’s trials My hard confidence, caged and pacing with data on my hands My inner, dying executive used-to-wanna-be no longer giving a shit about the last messages of the day My restless pistons trapped by the cold dreaming of ride segments to come The dream of my sweetie in my arms caring not who sees, judges, indignates I am a middle aged worker Tired from life’s challenges Exhilarated by life’s potential Draining the city from my psyche Draining The City