The train engine finally shut off
A janitor in reflective vest was moving out
Homeless people cabin by cabin
Like heavy bonsais or withered Christmas trees in February
But they suddenly turned into cheap travelers
Roaming leisurely with a duffle bag or a rolling luggage
On the chilly underground platform at the O’Hare Airport
To another throbbing train with light and heat
And again they were ready to depart
My best friend was on her plane flying to Toronto now
Left me sitting on the cushionless plastic chair
Staring at a thick lip young man from the corner of my eye
“What did you fucking say? You want to mess me up
Nigger?” Another black man with gray beard burst out cursing
“I said nothing, man. I am just saying…” that young man stood up, too
Splay-footed, sticking his hands into jacket pockets
“Come on! Daddy kicks your ass!”(Is that really necessary to make scene)
I still sat alone. There was no reason to miss you so soon
The young man strolled out with an alert look
A security guy walked through the train, muttering to his walky-talky
The bad-tempered chairwarmer sat quiet
I noticed he was in a funny, elongated black knit beanie
Like a sooty and greasy chef. (Can he cook?)
Several early travelers and off-duty airport workers entered
The train started to move. (I got the next 45 minutes to figure out)
(Don’t think he will ever get off this train…)
People choose to be homeless for reasons. (Is he a rail buff?)
A giggle digressed me, from an Asian woman
In her fifties. A housewife like Latina was chatting to her
Nodding with a light frown, she occasionally twitched her lips
Between long pauses. Later, when she got off, the Latina said goodbye to her
In a way that made me realize they had never met before
And she was probably badgered and rather to wait for the next train
(When I kept talking the Jürgen Habermas thing. Did I bother you?)
Cold air licked my face when the cabin doors opened
It surprised me that my face blushed, even it was not for no reason
Then the train approached Damen, where our favorite Myopic Books is
But our friend Mr. Purichanont had moved out of this neighborhood
To London. “Everyone of us is away from the same place,” once he said,
“Therefore, we are not alone.” Yes and no. Oh, how cute
The two in couple-suit-like suede boots tucked them in a pair of chairs
Turning them into a loveseat. I felt how shabby the rest of the passengers were
The salary man in tie and suit didn’t count, he was actually not here
But in his mobile devices. The adjacent empty seat reminded me
Your cheesy joke about the song “After You‘ve Gone”—
“After you have gun and left me crying
After you have gun there is no denying”
It was a lame opening for your favorite gun control topic
Probably to counterbalance my Habermas bear jamboree
The only thing I remembered was stunningly trivial:
The Omnibus Crime Control and Safe Streets Act of 1968
Because I asked you to publish an omnibus
Of my literary works, if I die before you, and of course you said
Hell no!” (You don’t want to live without me, right?)
(Hell no!) The train broke through tunnel and ran on an elevated railway
The winter sun rose slowly, yet was ever resolute
--
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