A Morning Story

He tosses the knife in the trash at the train station

so casually

just like a dozen others

toss out their coffee cups or used tissues

he disposes of this object in a place so decrepit

the trains can barely move for more than a day

before the tracks fail

and things start to break

the cameras are too old

giving fuzzy, black and white feeds

to a guard stifling a yawn

and fielding pointless questions

of "why won't my card work?" and

"I'm two cents too short, can you let me through?"

the knife sits in the trash

buried by others' useless items

but it begs the question

as all the commuters walk along

why dispose of a seemingly fine blade

in a place where everyone walks away?

I wonder, but like the others,

I have to catch my transfer

"And it could be nothing,"

I tell myself

since I'll never have an answer

or the bravery to ask