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January 09, 2006
The 9:22 to Puno
thread by thread
the coagulated pocket
dissolves
its twenty minutes past the 9:22
of which the express to Puno
was to have arrived
the undercarriage of the glowering sky
is merciless
sheets of hail striking the platform
with an obvious contempt
or perhaps hatred
for anything or one
above or below
finally
in the distance
a pulsation of light
slurred by the storm
grows
from the dim of a torch
into the face of a cyclops
and the trailing body
that is to carry me
east
the station shudders
beneath the force of its arrival
porters move about like army ants
shuffling the luggage of confused arrivals
into the safety of the depot
as I hurry myself on and in
to the shelter of the third carriage
down the littered aisle
until I find my torn and withered seat
and stow my suitcase
on the chainlink
overhead
finally seated
and yet still waiting
I loosen my tie and adjust myself
to the discomfort of the electric heating
pouring out of the ducts like halitosis
I scan the car
and realize
that there are very few of us
going the distance
tonight
across the aisle
facing opposite me
are the ruins of a man in a tattered grey suit
the suit being of a style made popular
during the days of a youth
that was not my own
I register his chin
lying idle against his sunken breast
the angle exposing a barren crown
garnished with liverspots
dully illuminated by the crude lights overhead
a thin rail of drool
runs from the underscore of his cracked lip
onto the pinstriped face of his blazer
his exhausted hands
rest
one on each knee
a widowers ring
in the appropriate place
turning away
and to the window beside me
I find nothing
other than the brutal reflection
of my own self
asking a question
I leave to no one
outside
the onslaught continues
hail pelting the steel chasis of the car
like pebbles on aluminum
the moon has given up
the sky
and I draw from my flask
the only comfort to be found
on this night
D.
Posted by Drexler at January 9, 2006 09:13 AM