The Mystery Train

My inbound commute this morning inspired the following poem:

The Mystery Train

The Mystery Train is a train of excitement,
With windows so clouded that you cannot see
Which station you're passing - or IF there's a station,
Or where in the world you might happen to be.

You stare in confusion at windows so frosted
An x-ray machine couldn't peer through the haze.
Is my stop coming up? Or have I just passed it?
Or am I a minotaur lost in a maze?

The conductors all thoughtfully aid in the mystery,
Never breathing a word which might pierce that dark veil
Where is the train going? Are we passing a station?
Was that blob Back Bay station, or was it Montvale?

If YOU want to ride on a train full of mystery
They're rolling along on the tracks every day
You might never get to the place you were going,
But that's how it is on the MBTA.