The train is his prison
metal grey funnel passengers
contend for seats and dignity
Alpha males, pole mountaineers
bitches, drunks and criminals
addicts to purchasing and gain.
Canines put down, the dogs devoured
by those who learn to sit at heel
show up on time, scramble aboard
present their tags at crack of dawn.

The train is his asylum
madmen perform, plastic wires
waving like tentacles from their ears
rock to the disembodied voice
calling on Boss and Babe and Spouse
hands by their toy machines, the keys
proudly caressed, his body tamed
by power, all of life squeezed out.
Sliding and shuddering to rest
tormented, bound by claws and pain.

The train feeds daily on his soul
disgorging him, restored and whole
with brothers less than strangers, into
fields of darkness underground.
The train his only freedom now
riding on a plain of fear,
stealing the fire, shielded from flame
by cells of anonymity.
Beyond the morning intimates
of final rescue and escape.

Frank Bana

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prometheus-at-dawn/