I. the scent of burnt rubber is unmistakable.
its offense permeates otherwise unremarkable
conversation of cuss words and crosswords
on the daily shuttle. paired conductors speak
little, other than to deliver a series of cautiously
punctuated reminders. no smoking. no poaching.
all steps monitored. all stops scheduled. a small
child dressed in denim overalls, a B inked on both
cheeks and Tonka truck on his lap – its front wheel
spins at an awkward angle, sits two seats over.
“The air smells bad, Momma,” he cries. the woman,
eggs fried, wrapped in a belted camel coat and hair
teased as high as the rails are wide, sighs. “I told you,
baby. I left the bacon too long on the fryer.”
II. in row D, teens play rounds of spades. greased
cards pile on faux leather seats. jacks battle queens.
kings demand like-kind repeats. cushions remain less
eager to receive frayed laces than crumbs and traces
of heartless debates. wars conflate wages. as the train
rounds a corner, a woman stumbles. a sandwich, stocked
and stacked of salami and oil drops beneath dueling stars.
mustard spreads like congealed foil. clock hands spiral.
a series of punctuated letters, I A M sorry follow.
“There’s no point,” a male, eye sockets wired, offers.
“Sorrow is only a few degrees removed from rigged soil.”
III. the train stalls at Fern Rock Station. “Like Plymouth
Rock?” the child questions. “No,” his mother responds
in an exhausted fashion. “School of Rock in sequence.”
lifts end. shifts begin. again. an outbound train races.
all destinations between Here and There isolated.
underneath, on a platform to the right, a man sleeps. peace
one breath removed from piece. voices storm. the overhead
speaker dishes condolences in clipped form. “Sorry folks,
it’s the rubber. We ask for your patience while we do
our best in an unfortunate situation.” Done as much a form
of movement as none. Gone as near to GO as NO.
V. I ride the train to conserve dollars but forget that the cost
of miles accumulates all the same. I count houses, smokestacks,
and imaginary daffodils but forget that smog promotes delirium
after hours. I pull a beanie over my head but forget that heat rises.
As the train compiles miles, I miscalculate the distance between
Earth, Wind, and Fire. The conductor hums Let It Be, then calls –
All Aboard! Passengers meddle as if the exit door offers medals.
The conductor nods. a book of poetry,
of delights, peaks from his pocket.
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