tracks-

Standing beneath the train
who knows who sees us
who knows who watches
out the window

Walking by the tracks
who knows who spies us
who knows who eyes us
about their day

you can never be
wholly alone in this city of eyes
this city of spies
you can never be unwatched

As the train rattles past
you might ask
who is watching
who has seen you

barnacle-

I swear I heard them chatter
I swear I saw them breath
I swear I saw them toss their beards
and turn their faces to the seas

But pippies and muscles and barnacle shells
don't chatter or preen or fuss
they just cling for their life to stay out of strife
on the pylon to which they are trussed

The wood rots away around them
the sun splays salt-crusts on their shells
and I imagine they chatter
as they cling for dear life in the swell.

Tides recede and strand them
blinking-glossy in the heat
and they become a spectacle
for the the thudding of tiny feet

They close their shells tightly to keep out the wind  
and the prying of wet little hands
for once they are loosened they'll be tossed away
like so many shells on the sand

Hold on little men- cling tightly!
Hold on little men- be strong!
Hold on little shells full of salty brine!
The sea will collect before long!

For now, you bake in the sunshine
clinging to the rocks
Pippies and muscles preening their beards,
for the corals in pearl party-frocks!