Rest and Motion

 

To be reading a magazine in the cavernous station,
the air adorned with the mingled smells of hot iron,

cinders and cylinder grease. A kid in khakis and white
t-shirt, smokes pillowed in his sleeve, drops a dime

into the phone, talks to his girl. They begin to argue.
I flip the pages, no longer reading, just watching 

the parade of photos march past. Two suits discuss
the box scores, while an old woman in a flowered hat

fingers rosary beads. The old clock, like the face
of a losing gambler, watches us from the wall. A voice

comes over the speaker, announces the next northbound 
train. There is a shuffle of activity. Cigarettes extinguished,

satchels grabbed. I lay the magazine on the bench
and rejoin the world of the dying.

Comments

[trainwatcher]

Great images among your "parade of photos." Never had the pleasure of commuting/traveling by steam-powered train, but you put me right there. Wonder how many of those people you observed and then rejoined in the world of the dying are actually dead by now. One never knows...

[Jill]

Holy Scheisse Charlie, "the old clock like the face of a losing gambler". Your gift with words, unglaublich!