Turned in from engine smoke,
the commuters look outward,
trying not to search and spot
bodies suspended in air over
the rails and thundering metal.

Little glowing plastic, dimmed
hieroglyphics, shoes removed –
stowed under seats. These things;
the constant shelling of rain,
unavoidable and mundane,
not the planes on invisible wires
or the limb washed out sewer
or novice eye contact.

A polite, meaningless exchange,
waiting for an empty train.


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