Carl Stevens' Journal: A Poem For The MBTA's Winter Woes
Just tell me something, where are we headin'?
Is this some strange urban armageddon?
Some doomsday clock with its hands at the top,
It goes tick tick tick till the trains all stop?
We gotta go somewhere, but we don't know how.
After six feet of snow, mother nature takes a bow.
As my sons would say, it's an epic fail,
It's as if we all camped out on the third rail.
It's the sad flight of a surreal bumblebee.
How can we have Tuesday without the "T"?
It's enough to make a grown person wail.
There ain't no hope on the commuter rail.
From Lowell and Worcester and Newburyport,
Those folks are boats without a port.
Without a way to get from "a" to "z,"
It's like spelling "pie" without the "p,"
Why do the meteorological gods all hate us?
Forcing the "T" to go on a hiatus.
The orange line's stopped, the green's not goin',
The red line's cancelled, and it's not even snowin'.
The party's over, and we're markin' time.
Goin' nowhere on the blue blue line.
Is it bad luck, fate, or ineptitude?
For whatever sad reason, we can't ride the tube.
Every color of the "T" has turned to gray.
And we're going nowhere, no how, no way.
One relenletess snowflake after millions of others,|
Have us crying "uncle" and calling for mother.
Shakespeare had a pen, Ted Williams had a bat.
Samson had his hair, and Friar Tuck was fat.
And we had the "T" until today.
But now i'm afraid we've got no way.
We paid our taxes, we paid our fare.
But today, my friends, we ain't goin' nowhere.
Listen to Carl's poem