they forgot the cream in the tea
but it's too late to go back now
the conductor clicks my ticket twice
then stumbles backwards
legs not quite seaworthy yet
I wonder if this is his first day
I wonder if he can tell it is mine
I wonder if anyone will
take the empty seat
next to the girl writing poetry
in a small magenta notebook
staring out the window
past the appirition of herself
to the golden arches
that shine through
the barren treeline ahead
it is hard to tell
if it is late fall
or early spring
the wet bark offers no clue
there is a donut shop
spelled "Doughnut Shop"
which seems strange
even though it is correct
it is much too formal
for the early morning
and the exposed back yards
that we speed past
are much too informal
an evite to voyeurism
with their over turned
plastic play sets
and leaf filled above ground
swimming pools
I don't see a single person outside
as if the Metro North could outrun
the Apocalypse
and just as I begin to fear
that I may be the only person
left behind
a man with a green overcoat
green umbrella
and carefully shined shoes
sits serenely beside me
he says he doesn't mind
I can keep my purse where it is
then folds his hands neatly
over the wool hat in his lap
for some reason I thought
that he would be cloaked in white
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