man running toward departing train must have finally realized he loves her

man running toward departing train must have finally realized he loves her

and not the passengers with their eyes immersed

in their cellphones and newspapers desperately

endeavoring to understand

the relationship between parliamentary

elections in malta and the stock market,

and not the solitary old woman in the back

who speaks to herself as if her cluttered mind

were truly the loving ear of her late husband,

but the exquisite splendor

of the train itself, the immaculate grace

of wheels clicking on titanium tracks

as it skirts past skyscrapers, the windows

smudged with the greasy fingers

of children and madmen,

the automatic doors that shutter close

as if to protect a succulent fruit,

the accumulating reverberation

of industrial sound

as it rolls into the distance.

 

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