Horizontal
lights glide through the dark.
commuters mere
silhouettes in yellow rectangles
speeding on
moonlit rails,
rocking in
repetitive recumbent rhythms,
parsing the
night with recollections
of the desultory
nine to five
and all of its downtown
asymmetry,
an urban life,
towers and gridlock
unknown to the primeval
forest
that opens narrowly
for the diesel
hauling freight
and fatigue,
the heft of
bodies and suits
trying to
unlearn the taxi horns,
the stoplights
and pedestrian betrayals,
trying to forget
the riddles posed
by the sun’s odd
shadows on intersections,
the time of day
always a mystery
since it moves
like a glacier
just beyond
sight of the gray monoliths
standing like
Nazi guards.
But the train
sweeps all the detritus away
by sheer force,
its plowing
through White
Plains, New Rochelle, Rye,
Mamaroneck,
stations with Doppler bells
rising and
falling, church bells calling
people back to
their homes,
to scotch,
anesthesia, the lethargy
of losing
another day to God-knows-what.
The silver skin
pulls into the train yard,
empty, emotions
trickling into vapor,
its passengers
having once more
commuted to and
from their lives.
~William Hammett
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