FREE VERSE Poem: The Train, by Rodrigo Tello

There is a new train at the station. It was installed a long time ago. It runs late when you are late, and early if you can’t wait.

It always has the same people in it. A young lady carrying heavy shopping bags. An old man sitting down and breathing heavily. A young kid just acting up, because his strict mother won’t let him roam around.A worried student, repeating over and over the formulas for his exam. An ambitious young fellow with a happy grin and expensive clothes. A factory worker with an odd name tag. A secretary that won’t stop fiddling with her hair.

I have talked to all of them, but rarely do you get a name at all. It’s just a train, after all, no need to learn that. A space in between, and no time at all.

Every now and then one works up the courage to press that red button by the door. The train stops and they get off.

A second later, they come back. Sometimes a little different, sometimes a little sad.

Sometimes a little shorter, sometimes taller than before. Always a little older, sometimes a little glad. Sometimes they don’t come back

Every now and then I get off too. I walk off at the right place, at the right time. If I’m late, it’s early. If I’m early, it’s time. I take it slow and enjoy the sights. Sometimes I grow, sometimes I cry. The train always arrives.

It’s all the same, not a hair out of place. Maybe I catch a smile, or a relieved sigh. I’m not sure if they are yours or mine. The train just continues the ride.

It is the same people every time. I’ve made Mabelle laugh, I’ve fought with Frank. Joanne and her son are both very, very kind. He is in college now, and has bought a new car.

That other rich kid was famous once. The nervous student is a nervous worker now. That foreman still has a weird name tag, that secretary is now a happy wife.

When it grows silent, one of us walks to the door. I have seen some of us step off a million times. Frank has never left his spot. Not even once. He is waiting there, for someone.

Then they come back to tell us about their time outside. Mabelle just became forty-four. Joanne’s kid now rides alone. That foreman became a grumpy old soul. There is no wife, no rich man, no nervous man.

When someone is gone for good, somebody else joins the tracks. A silent child. A wise looking woman. A small adult man. This time again I see a frowning Frank. So I walk up to the door. I bring him food when I come back. He smiles when I sneak in a beer or a cognac.

Sometimes I bring a feast for everyone. Drinks, meat, snacks. Joanne was clear: little James can’t drink until he is twenty five. He now brings a labrador, we still debate whether to call it Jim or Jam.

There is a new train at the station. It is always on time. I have yet to miss it even once. But the day i do, i have made sure. Mabelle, or James, Courtney or Juan, They will bring Frank Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner and Snacks. I leave the train.

A bit nervous every time.