Alone in the express train,
I would sometimes stand and look down
to the level where the train tracks were,
to watch the gliding locomotive
screech around a tight curve,
then speed straight past empty local stations.
What was in those fleeting moments
fascinating me as stations disappeared fast,
flickering before my eyes?
I remember how high I was,
rocking side to side as the train sped.
I remember not caring much.
The stations came fast, flashing by—
the lights, the graffiti, the peeling ads,
the people zooming by,
the rhythmic clickety-clack of the wheels,
the whistling wind, the dangling cables like
electrical spiderwebs.
All I wanted was to get home.
Over and over, the train swayed and shook
as it stuck fast to its steel tracks.
Or better still, to survive the night,
to stay alive on the lonely, dirty train
as it tunneled through the eerie gap,
devouring the darkness engulfing me.
And then there would be light—
the day welcoming me. I’m alive.
But the long trek through the dark—
through the night, my teenage years—
faded. Now I look back and wonder how I survived.