on the train ride from ny to poughkeepsie

looking outside the window of the hudson line train at the wintry desolation (those barren trees, those frigid condos), i began to think about how much we are products of our environments.

I've seen saints
But remember
That I forgot
To flag them down
When they passed

And in the morning light
You hold that ashtray tight
You could put it out
But I can't put it out