on the train

sitting on the train I see people come and go
newspapers litter the dark corners under feet
and rip as I shuffle my weight to lean against the side
sitting on the train I see people I don't know
but I do know the shielding bubble
that wraps itself around them as they sit on the train waiting,
thinking, waiting, reading, waiting; the shades go down over their soul
and they wait and think and read until they move on automatic tracks
to the next segment of their journey and the train
steadily conveys them to their destinations. Slow
and steady wins the race, is what they all tell me
is what they shout from every corner and what the chanting masses say
is what I must do to make it to my destination, so I am told.

sitting on the train I see people come and go
I am invisible, a fixed part of the environment
a subtle observer of moments and fragments.
I look at a shoe or a pocket, a tattooed finger or a rosy glow
and drunken breath, a lake of tears in an eye of hurt
and I wonder, what is your story, where
did your shoe take you today, why does your glove have a hole?
and will you let me help you? what other treasures
hide in your pocket and who caused such grief?
People come and go on a train; I want to hear more
My reflection clings like a phantom outside the window
and whispers tales of hurt, tales of glory, disappointment, and some from long before.
My shadowy ghost leans in with hollow eyes, and tells me now it's time to go.