Monday
Is anything sadder than a train
That leaves when it’s supposed to,
That has only one voice,
Only one route?
There’s nothing sadder.
Except perhaps a cart horse,
Shut between two shafts
And unable even to look sideways.
Its whole life is walking.
And a man? Isn’t a man sad?
If he lives in solitude a long time,
If he believes time has run its course,
A man is a sad thing too.
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(Monday is from Primo Levi's Collected Poems, translated by Brian Swann and Ruth Tenzer Feldman, Faber and Faber, UK, 1988. The photograph is pilfered from Flickr. It's a photo taken by Murfomurf late at night from a moving car, through a dirty window).
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