Читать книгу Albrecht Dürer and me - David Zieroth - Страница 10

train ride

passing through Linz I notice trains

preternaturally, not the cylinders

for carrying acid chemicals

graffiti on their bulging sides

but older blocky types

of faded wood now silenced

on a weedy siding, while I sit in the upper

section, aware of speed and efficiency

across from me two young men gaze

into a camera steadied by the über-clean

hands of the blond one, occasionally

speaking quiet German phrases

while the old man cross-aisle snorts

as he sleeps though his jaw remains firm

and never once does his mouth fall slack

to reveal a vacuity no one has to see

while I see how I’ve travelled beyond

the two paragons but haven’t yet arrived

at the one who catches his escaping breath

though I also note he’s mastered not

sliding on his seat into a heap of age

I turn away from humans close at hand

to look again at boxcars and wonder

what they were filled with, carried

and left behind: routine stuff of light

bulbs and oddments from elsewhere

tractor parts and toiletries, nothing worse

can be imagined today as our train passes

through Linz, bearing me, grateful for

considerate and sleeping companions, easy

to say now we’re going somewhere safe