70spoems/secrets*

People travel with secrets
locked in silver suitcases,
rolled tightly in round tins
and tucked into the corners.

The 32mm visions they fear
sharing, checked in Greyhound
lockers when no one is looking.

Their fingers fondle the key
as they stand in supermarket lines,
weighing avocados and onions.

When their pockets are torn
and too full of lint,
they take to wearing it
around their neck, like a woman
wears a gold cross, assured
it will get her into heaven.

Deciding to claim their dreams
they realize too late,
they can’t find their way
back to the station.

4/24/78