Monday to Saturday
This daily movement from one station to another
From home in one city
To work in another
From woman to worker and back--
Countless faces to wear and discard
Among crowds who speak and look different
Oh so different
Their clothes, their smells--
Their gestures and plans---
To adapt and change was possible
But not easy
After the long aloof silence
And pain of exclusion
I discovered myself in the otherness of me
I joined the throng as M.S.T.
Monthly season ticket holder
That was me.
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