should i go in and out again like
so many train stations?

it may be the tug of locomotive air
sucking at hats, hair, long skirts
like flags on flagpole legs floating around as in

the movies: and out of nowhere i can see
people from every country appear, credits

rolling off trains, every face flashing its
nationality's colors like a walking flag against
the black background of smokes,

smokes the noir film's private eye's cigarette. the
trains draw them in and out again like that, too.

and i understand the pull of travel, drag,
and the push, exhale, the shove to stand
in moist crowds with 30lbs luggage

swaying, rocking with the track,
the body flow like a slow scene change,

a slow-motion bedsheet being sun-dried.
and also when do you get off, at what stop do you stop in another
language?

and on top of it all,
when do you eat,

drink frankfurt aphelweins,
drink belgium wheats, wine from
the kolmar vineyards, bath's famous ciders, ah! or real

dublin guiness -- when do you eat again? drink again?
eating and drinking and movies. should we go in and out again like
so many other people? get lost in the wind?

it may be like a late night movie. i go, and i watch. i leave, and i sleep.
i breathe. i burn. i lug myself home.

 

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