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 David Orr writes the column "On Poetry" for the New York Times Book Review. Email a friend >> Printable version >> |
The Train
Not that anyone will care,
But as I was sitting there
On the 8:07
To New Haven,
I was struck by lightning.
The strangest thing
Wasn't the flash of my hair
Catching on fire,
But the way people pretended
Nothing had happened.
For me, it was real enough.
But it seemed as if
The others saw this as nothing
But a way of happening,
A way to get from one place
To another place,
But not a place itself.
So, ignored, I burned to death.
Later, someone sat in my seat
And my ashes ruined his suit. |
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