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| Irene Emanuel |
THOUGHTS ON THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN IN SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA
The impersonal recorded voice said,
“DOORS CLOSING, STAND CLEAR”
He almost missed the step as he lolled into the carriage,
his shirt of no consequence exposed his obscene belly,
his navel-plug, a stopper for what lay beneath.
She, with the earrings and lank black hair, gazed at him,
a startled Sabbath witch, nose-ring twitching,
black eyes peeled wide in blankness.
Her large, heavy feet looked odd in ordinary sandals,
had she abandoned her pointy shoes and black cloak?
She dominated the carriage with her strangeness.
Would she pull the plug that was holding
the bald-belly man together?
In the corner, the lovers held fast,
secure in their unity;
their invisible no-entry wall blocking all outside interference.
Would they unglue in time to get off at their stop?
Three stops on, belly-man got off;
flapping shirt open, oblivious to the
travelers frozen in optical shock
as the naked belly weaved erratically
round seen and unseen obstacles.
Again, the impersonal recorded voice said,
“DOORS CLOSING, STAND CLEAR”
As the train moved on, I realized that
civilization was heading down the path of
no return and this midnight train
was really going nowhere.
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