What better way to find a train seat that is safe
than calculate the odds and such
that one can do it, survive voyage.
I guess halfway the train the risk is minimum
to get all smashed in accidents as we see on tv.
Thinking of the blood stains on the concrete that remain
when such a tragedy occurs, I take my chance:
a seat under a Picasso sketch redone through graffiti.
The man in front of me is probably a terrorist. But see,
the sun starts shining as we leave the city’s rain,
and a child is sharing sweets.
Relax, I think. Just two more stops and I am free.
And then I see you walking through the train.
Your eyes are signals as I hear a whistle blow.
Picasso’s horse, eyes wide open, screams.
Destiny approaching, a tunnel swallows all.