Out the Window of a Midnight Train - Shaya Bock

Occasionally the train will slow —

Its squeals, a feigned burden 

Of heavy load — and lurch 

To a stop. Just beyond 

The grime-caked glass — a failing yellow

Fluorescent spotlight in front the still backdrop 

Of the street; empty beside the parked cars;

Buzzing with the potential 

Growl of an engine start; or 

The bark of a horn honk; 

Or eager blink of the headlights.

And yet

Out in the mist of cigarette-stained fluorescence,

A desire for some cold comfort

Is sat outside the train car;

The faint washing of the tides

Against rocks just over the railing's edge;

Or a hidden break in the black 

Trees, with a lamppost and bench;

You think to sit down — the wheels knock again,

And again, the train leans itself forward.