From the terrace before six
I see a train crossing,
Three cars long—“That’s it?”
Passing in no time at all.
I linger for the evening commuter; longer, heavier, humid stream
of mysterious machine crashing through my gaze in waves of
The window in my parents’ bedroom on an afternoon when they still
meant to love each other, keeping the quiet;
A promise that
The guilt may lift
The fear evaporate
I won’t be
held still by the terrace railing.
Nauseous cars persist downline,
I see them every night;
my trunk locked—hanging
on the tremor of the tracks.
Kurtis is driving I’m hanging out the car window off Joy Division until
the commuter begins to cross us but
Kurtis pulls an illegal U-turn we keep driving along the wind.
Around the corner it catches us again!
Neon men in floating yellow caps line the tracks and wave
goodbye like little
lanterns. GO train! We’re pulling another u-ey.
He drives down the beat of Ian
Curtis, baritone on the gas pedal
We stop for every red light.
We keep driving. She’s lost control,
he’s singing. She’s lost control!
He’s right—and I can’t stop laughing.