Terminus

That fading clock hung upon
the off-white wall, ticks sound
like a heartbeat, labored and
lonely.

The budgie in her guiled cage
stares blankly into her mirror,
bored or narcissistic? That is
the million-dollar question.

Pale green countertops are now
recovering from the lunch made
so hastily, life moves so quicky,
the workdays all blend into one.

Hours, days, months, years, spent
just waiting for that finial moment;
that terminus point, where the train
conductor bellows, please disembark.