In the dim, flat,
yellowish light of the cabin,
my brothers and the other passengers
sat almost motionless,
staring out through green-tinted windows,
each peering deep into a dream, a memory,
or at the cityscape flowing by,
which vanished now and then
behind the dark and silver blur of a train
moving down the parallel track.
A cigarette resting in the street,
its tip a tiny circular glow
burning away a small hole
in the nights thin partition,
releasing faint drifts of gray smoke.
It was flicked from a car
with violent headlights
flushing me with fire
like an interrogators lamp,
pushing me to the sidewalk
as it flashed past,
its smoldering red taillights
gazing back, accusing, accusing…
then lost around a corner.
which at any moment
could suddenly explode
into a shattering of bone,
a scattering of blood…
The cigarette tip continued glowing orange,
slowly growing ash like a long, gray beard.
I walked backwards,
watching its fire slowly disappear
before turning towards home…