A-Train Passing

By Bob Brussack

The A-Train slides silently
Across the frame,
A monochrome blur.
A young woman
Stands on the platform.
Isn’t she too close?
Her dress should rustle,
Shouldn’t it?
I imagine her breath
Lightly fogging
The passing windows.
She is looking down,
Oblivious,
Into the pages of her book,
Waiting.

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