(en)Train(ment) Station or 3-11-11

In which I receive a sign from the Universe...

I watch the rain (aglow 
with radioactivity from 
Fukushima?) Mother
Earth’s way of purifying
herself—fall on Tinley 
Park like letters from
the book of my dreams
which I’ll never write,
(but which has already 
been written in another
dimension), huddled 
inside the train station
as this morning’s commuters 
scurry with coffee, papers
and umbrellas opened like
vinyl Gerber daisies to get 
a jump on another day.

On my iPod, 
I’m grooving to 
the soundtrack of
“Lord, Love a Duck!”

(an obscure film liked
by an equally obscure
fan) the chorus to my
life swimming around in 
a world of commuting
and dreary office work,
getting nowhere…

Then I look over 
at a young guy--
head shaved clean
(could he be a fresh marine?) 
who turns his back on me, 
wearing one of those t-shirts 
covered in royal designs, 
with the word

VICTORY

emblazoned across his back--
ah, there’s my sign from the universe!

Victory, 
my name, 
will be mine, 
in some 
unknown future…