The Last Train to Finchley Road By Sahand Rabbani Light, soporific turbulence Extinguishes the child's sorrow As an exhausted father counts the dots To Finchley Road Along the banner above the sliding doors. A silk red tie hangs loose around an enervated neck That belongs to a tuxedoed man And his slackened pride. Lonely grandmother of seven holds in her lap An imitation purse of leather and fabric, a gift from Her second daughter. Ragged is the man who makes the underground His home, And the momentary comfort of the train's bench His bed. The last train stops at Finchley Road As it has most days in the memories Of those who are relevant. The doors open and close And the recording plays Like it has most days in the memories Of those who are relevant. But the passengers sit unflinchingly. All who live near Finchley Road Are either home already, Away for the night, Or will find another ride home. Copyright © 2024 Sahand Rabbani All rights reserved.