THE LAST TRAIN
I caught the train as it was leaving the station.
The conductor told me he was out of return tickets.
Many of the passengers were well dressed
and looked like they were heading for job interviews
at Google or Amazon.
I heard a Yorkshire yapping in a carrier container,
and an old lady exclaiming: “I ain’t going nowhere without him.”
Another well-dressed woman clung to a huge cross
as if she was getting ready to meet the Pope.
A man wearing a yarmulka showed a guy his supply
of jars of gefilte fish and horseradish, and let him view
his shiny Menorah and collection of Chanukah dreidels.
I heard him explaining to this man:
“It won’t hurt a bit. Snip, snip and it’s all over.”
I sat by the window admiring the view of colorful passing trees
with the last of the beauty of changing autumnal leaves.
I remembered father’s advice to always enjoy the trip
as much as the destination.
Then I remembered I packed my birding binoculars
just in case we were heading to where I think we were going
so I could carefully search for any trace of my beloved’s
dainty footprints, and rejoin her as quickly as possible.