Train Ride Poem by Shikhandin Shikhandin

I am riding west, past rows of electricity poles
lined up like prisoners before a firing squad. Past
sad buildings with the legend ‘ABANDONED'
inscribed like a scarlet letter plucked from a romantic era.

I am wedged between sweaty knees
rustling buttocks in synthetic saris
and emaciated thighs in terry-cotton pants unashamedly
exposing calloused, sometimes blistered feet. It is the heat

so unbearable, yet habitual. Sucking the power out
from the electricity poles, and even the screeching metal
wheels spitting sparks on the metal rails appear timid
against this landscape. There is no escape.

I tell myself that this is it. This is the endless land
with its load of blistered, festering people, propelling
through life like an ooze. Next stop I am supposed to get off.
My backpack checked for possible thefts, I heave; I move

towards the open door lurching like a drunk. But
I am too late. A fat woman is already standing there
with her luggage blocking my path. She is leaning
forward too much. The train has yet to enter

the platform. The train is slow, but not slow enough.
Perhaps she wants to be the first to catch a coolie.
Perhaps she just wants to be the first. Perhaps
she's just another stupid person in this dead land.

I tell myself I can do this. No one will notice
my hands moving forward. I tell myself it's the heat.

(First Published in Off The Coast, USA)