The Wrong Side of Tomorrow

Each morning we wake up
On the wrong side of tomorrow—
Fresh tracks from the evening
Running down the length of our backs.
We say today will be different;
We adjust our engineer’s caps,
Climb aboard the locomotive
We’ve ridden through life—
This long train of spite
We drive deep into night.
We try to obey the traffic signs
Standing between our destinations,
But there are far too many
To yield the right of way—
One cautionary tale after the other,
As far as the eye can see.
And, still, this never-ending line
Provides the only comfort we know:
The hum of each rail beneath us,
The glow of the engine’s fire,
The steady tick of the brakeman’s watch—
As if we could safely measure the future,
By the time it takes to arrive.