Trains and Tunnels

When I ride the max--
Whether it's to school
Or back to my house--
I always look outside the window
At buildings, at lights, at people passing by,
Appreciative, yet wishing for another view.

And I wonder if he sometimes wishes that, too.

After I reach Goose Hollow,
I know my next destination:
It's Washington Park
And it's in a tunnel;
What is there to look at in a tunnel?

So when I go through the tunnel,
I close my eyes--
I'm usually tired--
And listen to the sound of the train,
Trying to guess when the concrete walls
Are no longer enclosing me.

And I usually guess right;
The train is loud in the tunnel,
Getting louder still
Getting louder still
Right before it's out--
And once the train is out,
It's finally quiet.

Things have their proper place:
Some get loud and then quiet;
Some are just always quiet;
And some are just always getting louder.

In this case--with him--
I hope things are always getting louder,
That the tunnel never ends.