Déjà Vu Train

An overnight train ride filled with retired bankers and bankrobbers;
there’s an air of familiarity between them all, but no one can quite pin it down.
This déjà vu train car winds its way between the green mountain trees
and my newspaper dutifully reports: train accidents on the rise.

My coffee cup rattles and clanks in time with the trains rusty wheels.
I wonder if they ever invented a rattle-less train, if it would lose it’s charm,
if the driver would have to compensate by playing it a little looser at the wheel,
I wonder if this explains airplane turbulence. I don’t think trains have steering wheels.

The train attendant is making her way down the aisle, stopping at each seat,
she stops by my side and asks me if everything is ok, and I tell her it is.
She has a face that you immediately want to be very close to for a very long time.
I don’t mean that she’s a kitten, but I don’t me she isn’t one either.

I imagine that there is a very grand mystery unfolding a car or two back.
I’m an extra in the twisting roller coaster of an Agatha Christie novel.
The grizzled detective only has a week till retirement,
and very accidentally stumbles into the biggest case of his career.

Mysterious murders, and guns, and torn pieces of a checkered over-coat;
snagged on the splintering wood of an aging train seat.
Everyone’s a suspect, and I raise my newspaper to my nose, and look around.
The kitten-tits attendant walks by again, and I eye her suspiciously.

The rain beats down on the side of the train and I stare out into the black.
The loneliness is thick on a ride like this, and you can almost touch it.
I look around at the oriental carpeting that seems to be everywhere;
like everybody’s waiting for the drummer to set up, but none ever does.

The bankers and the robbers have agreed to sleep on it for now,
and I decide to join them.

No Comment.

Add Your Comment

WP-SpamFree by Pole Position Marketing