Mostly I can’t remember,
Faces pressed upon steamy mirror glass
Eyes buried in folds of flesh
I try to reason it out
As I watch trains go by me
With mannequins in each window
They must sit them there when the train starts
And let them find their own way back
It must be hard being no one at all
Two trains pass here every single day
One going up, one coming down
The same flaccid faces looking out of both
Newspaper neatly wrinkled like drapes
As if they could read or would want to
Yet it’s something to do, staring at print
Sometimes, they can’t see me
The trees at thick as pine with the speed of the train
I am an illusion, created by distance
I am one of those who have been left behind
The impact of the default button automatically pushed
All faces look the same in the blur
Sometimes, I sit and count the train cars
and how over time they seem to dwindle
fewer blank faces to choose from
All a blur of motion, all faces becoming invisible
Until only one face remains, by default
Staring out at the constant blur, free forever.
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