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Train Cart
As the mystery man blared for
the next and final stop, I stared between
the train tracks and the hollow black
that lay above it.
Stepping in, I sit in one of the tampered orange seats.
In front of me was graffiti, and beside me was a mother and
her two kids: one in a stroller and the other by her side.
Love was her best quality, though I shall never know.
A woman boards the train, headphones on,
walking discreetly to the opposite side of where
I was sitting. As the train wobbled back and
forth, I saw, on her phone, the image of a man,
whom she may have known, though I shall never know.
As I walk up the stairs to leave the subway station,
I see a woman in a dress, followed by a singular cameraman,
who laughed as the woman spun around in circles and circles.
He may have been her husband, may have been a friend,
though, still, a fact that I shall never know.
As I walked through the subway gates, I saw a girl
who looked just like my childhood best friend, though we
last saw each other more than ten years ago, separated
by a thick gust of forget, severed by a quick slash of truth.
Her last words, before she left, was “I got you a gift.”
Should she still remember me for that “thank you” in response,
I shall never know.
Just as I made it up the stairs, a man approached for some spare
change. He bore a crooked smile, though not of a thief. His hair was
combed, though visibly dirty. His hands looked rough. The people
around me each took a stare, then walked by as if nothing was unusual.
There was a time, a time when I went to the city alone. As this time
elapsed, I realized that the train cart had lain still. The only thing that
kept the world moving was the people and possibilities that lay ahead of me.
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