THE day that Wayne was coming home,
Lee flitted fleet-footed among the throng
Of suburbanites shuffling their feet along
Under the turquoise dome
With the signs of the zodiac all turned wrong.

A blue-capped official, proud and remote,
Was writing unmoved as the crowd increased
Messages brief as those fingers wrote
On the wall at Belshazzar's dreadful feast:
"Train Fifty-One is on time. Train Eleven
On time. Train Nineteen an hour late."
And then the announcement, big with fate:
"Train Fifteen on Track Forty-Seven."

And Lee's heart beat with a wild elation,
And she ran like a child in a childish game,
Pushed without pity or grace or shame
Past women and children to take her station
Where she could perfectly see
Down the dark hole where the train would be -
See Wayne as soon as he came.

The passengers came streaming out,
Some with bags and some without,
Some with babies, some with pets,
All about her was greeting,
Kissing and meeting,
Talking and lighting cigarettes.

And when she saw him coming,
His head above the stream,
No miracle so startling,
So magical could seem,
As this - that he was coming ­
A real man, not a dream!