The Backporch Review 2022

The Last Passenger
By Noah Brown, 12
A forgotten newspaper
A crumpled soda can
The incessant bzzz of an overhead,
flickering fluorescent tube’s bulb
It’s 2am. I am the last passenger
And this is the last train.
My companions have all but departed,
The aforementioned items, evidence of their existence.
There is something unnerving, uncomforting
A near-empty train car, if it weren’t for me.
It’s almost peaceful, surreal, am I ruining this?
My presence ruins such beauty.
Should I label myself
As forgotten,
As discarded?
This is making me green,
Yellow too with haze.
Yellow, the color of fear,
Green, the sickness.
It’s all reflected back to me
By the claustrophobic,
Mocking
Arsenic tiles.
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