Poetry: Missing A Ride On A Train / Missing Rides On Trains

He entered; his flat heels clipped into a staccato; his head bobbed as he walked.
He had choices the length of the train, but he wasn’t looking.
You’d think he didn’t care.
I did –
These things can go in a blur.

He leaned; his sleeved arm pressed into the corner; his legs crossed at the sock.
He had headphones the size of my fists, but he wasn’t listening.
You could see it in his stare.
I did –
Behind my newspaper.

He moved; his shirt’s tail slid into my sideview; his hands laced on his crotch.
He kept tapping his balls of his feet, but he wasn’t annoying.
You might have found it hard to bear.
I did –
He was now my neighbor.

He shifted, his smooth jeans chafed into each other, his head turned as mine stopped.
He said sorry the way of something; was something starting?

You would have maybe dared.

I didn’t.


(Revision)


it started when

He entered as the doors were kissing, easing them apart.
His woolen skin was touched by beads his glove soon brushed away.
I saw his headphones size of fists, and soccer-married boots,

But still I tracked his every step, each dirt and ugly stain.

most of the time

He’d lean in when the train would shudder, press against the glass.
His meaty hands probed countless tunes in airy corner drums.
I heard his stages grass and sets, the sighs at perfect plays,

But still I parsed the many strains, each loud and crowding cry.

but then one day

He shifted as the crowds were leaving, body next to mine.
His jeans were crossed and hands were still like supplicating twins.
I felt his heavy heated parts, his presence close to me,

But still I paused at every turn – I paused at every turn.

until

He left.

And so did I.