as i sat on the early afternoon train,
just before the evening rush,
i looked across the carriage at the empty seats –
gaudy purple and yellow patterns
that deck the train out
like a christmas tree.
and so i wished that my fingertips
could hold some essence of goodwill,
for those who would be later sat
upon my tracing.
for though we come together in our passage,
cramped into a box on wheels
that coughs us out
and sprinkles us across the country as we demand,
our moment of unity
will soon be split
into paths of uncertainty,
and nobody can say whose path will be first to end.