Taking the Green Line to Somerville

I've lived in Boston for two and a half years and I've never been to Somerville.  I've been to Davis Square once, but never into the guts and heart of Somerville.  I did get a postcard once and that tempted me to visit, but not enough to actually get off my duff.  The only reason I've been to Cambridge and Malden is because I hopped a train to get there.

To someone in Dorchester, Somerville seems a lot like the Dot.  A city of three decked homes, one after another, lacking a sterling reputation.  The way people call Dorchester 'Poor-chester;' people call Somerville, 'Slum-erville.'  Despite what the rhyming slanderers have to say, Dorchester is a magnificent place, why not Somerville?

Why not, indeed?  I'm sure it is magnificent.  I daydream about Somerville now, waiting for spring.  In spring, a man's fancy turns toward Somerville.  I've heard palaver about it at the Harp and Bard on April evenings when the moon is full.  A carpenter will be talking to a bricklayer and they'll reach a spontaneous conclusion to head over to Somerville, "to see what fish might be biting."

It's very snowy today so I don't think I'll be heading over to Somerville this evening.  I will probably wait until the crocuses start poking up their heads.  By then, God willing, the Green Line Extension will be completed and I will get to Ball Square entirely by train.