Circa 5:40 PM, Wednesday, April 13, 2005
He moved through the train
like a mouse doused in Tabasco might
travel through a snake—-
the skin of the train-people bulged
and parted for him, with scrunched faces.
He had the floppy style of a
late-middle aged businessman
who had gotten drunk all afternoon
and was now trying to get back
to where he started,
in his blue suit.
He tried one standing point after another,
and settled finally
at the edge of one of the
accordion-style doors,
befuddled and interested in everything,
squinting to see here and there,
with a frown that didn’t indicate sadness
but concentration, so as to stand.
Upon pulling up at Grand,
he took the last opportunity
to poke his head out,
and see what was what out there,
and of course
the doors were closing
as we are so often admonished
that they will do,
and the doors snapped up his big glasses
before he could pull his whole head back in,
and they were gone.
He made one of his mouse-moves through the train,
finding the blue button for conductor,
but apparently
some riders disabused him of that notion,
because it was no use.
They seemed to indicate
that the best approach
would be to leave the train
at Chicago
and catch the next one back
to Grand and
try to retrieve the spectacles.
And so he did.
And with that,
our spectacle was gone,
and the snake bulled northwest,
gobbling new mice.
Copyright 2005 Daniel X. O’Neil