Missed connections

Missed connections

There are two words intrinsic to the tracks

Not ‘departure’ and ‘arrival’; too mechanical.

Coal in the engine, ink of the blueprints,

dead signs sneer above meaningless destinations.

Be on your way now, you’ll find nobody here

 

Nor the two ‘farewell’s severing a connection

like wagons uncoupling: were we ever a pair?

The conductor hides his lies, tips his hat;

the question leaves the station

the answer drowned out with a whistle

 

What about ‘leaving’ and ‘staying’? One left behind,

tears trail from second class to your cheek.

the sunset limns her hair, the sun sets with her.

The train has left; you’ve nothing left of her

Yet the station thrums with laughter and speech

 

Maybe a stranger pair: ‘waiting’ and ‘hoping’:

if only the train would speed up, to hell with safety regulations!

howls your desperation to be there, damn this isolation

inside a train that smells of separation, like the tracks

could diverge at any second. He could leave at any second

 

But petrichor is the scent of what’s been done, not what is to come.

The water what has become the rain has a purpose,

it’ll put out a fire somewhere, or lessen a thirst (of open-mouthed children

sheltered within the shade)

nothing obliges the water to always rain on your parade

 

 

 

The conductor smiles, “depart for arrival,”

His farewell, a knowing half-truth, he tips his hat.

Leaving is heading for wherever you’ll stay,

hope is knowing you’ll get there, perhaps on the next.

(there’s more than that one melodramatic train.) Just wait.

 

There’s really just one word intrinsic to the tracks,

to the station, too. Nothing drastic, definitely more mellow

than most would think.

 

Step out of the train and meet her eyes.

There’s no “goodbye”

only “hello”

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