A graffitied train thunders past.
I cling to the top of a car.
In the rush of the air amidst the noise,
I hear footsteps and look over my shoulder.
Darkness grins with evil mien,
While wicked laughter falls all about.
With a sigh, I open my eyes
And continue my walk beside the tracks.
Escape. No escape.
The train sounds its mournful cry.
They are gone now,
No longer present to hear the whistle,
To see the graffitied cars roll past,
To feel the ground rumbling beneath their feet.
I can say no more
Let us have a cup of tea
And offer the latest from China.
But I can hold them fast
In memory and by recounting the many stories
Of how they lived while they were here.
Love and all we shared does not disappear.
A friend’s cousin died.
Train whistles a mournful sound.
Snow falls in darkness.