In The Glass

Almost everyone has a destination. Work, school, shopping, friends. The game, the airport, another day on the job like the last day like the next day. The mall, the market, the bar, the base. The world slides by smooth on the Light Rail. The doors open and shut. At night you see
yourself vague in the glass. Everyone watches everyone. In the back of your mind are the things you left behind: your car in the lot, your apartment two bus rides away from the station, your babies, someone you love, someone who that day made you cry. Someone who will smile when you come home. A dark house. You travel smooth through the darkness, there and back, barely a ripple, some days so silently it's like you're invisible, like you don't even exist. Your there and back. Those small poles you revolve around.

You think about train tracks, the way one track can meet another. You think about what it would be like to get on someday and not get off. To ride a train to another train. To step from one to the next. To keep going out and out. To follow the tracks until there are no more tracks. How far could you go, how long? Where in the world would you be? Who would you be when you got off?