I took a train by and by.
Sometimes the train was a slow
one, stopping, waiting
at every small village and corner
along my way.
Sometimes a TGV, speeding through
a second look,
may have had ma clé,
Sometimes my greatest desire was for the
train to speed. Up. Through those icky bits as-fast-as-pulling-a-bandaid.
Those days the engine broke. There was a strike. Or a suicide
on the track. I sustained.
Sometimes I wanted the train to slow, allow me time
to stop and savour petit mauve lilacs I saw in a field;
the dark eyes of a man who seemed
my mate; or a
conversation I yearned to relish, recall.
Those days the train was always ahead of
Schedule, moving so swiftly what I
Now my last train. The Journey’s End I
jumped to get, a misstep.
The Express I chose, regret,
buy and bye.