09 September 2010

Ode to the T

I think an ode is actually verse with a specific structure; however, I do not remember anything from my British Lit class except that I love The Rime of the Ancient Mariner followed closely by The Lady of Shalott.

Travel comes in many forms: air, water, or on land;
At all of these (except the seas) I am quite the old hand.
I've flown around the world and back, to old Jerusalem,
I've sailed in oceans, rivers, lakes, and I can even swim,
I've walked and carpooled all my life to church and work and school,
I even rode the bus to work, which did seem kind of cruel.

But now I live in Boston, and my mode here is the T;
And though it has so many lines, Green is the one near me.
It comes to fetch me so close to my red brick mansion home
And leaves me thirty seconds from the school I call my own.
It passes me by useful things, like Whole Foods and BU,
The library is close to me, and Boston College too.

It has so many features that are cool and good to know,
But though I hate to say it, my dear Green Line, you are slow.
Slower even than the UTA or trains or Thomas Gall,
Slower even than a jackal, speedy fastest of them all.
You are, Green Line, a slow poke, but now I've been called that too.
The Slowy Foundation likes that---I'll see what I can do.

1 comment:

  1. Great poem! The green line is awesome. Which stop is close to your house?