the passing train

you don't travel well.
you get bored
with looking out
the window. it's
interesting at first.
but after the second
or third town,
with dogs, and people
sitting on their
porches, eating orange
marshmallow peanuts
from wallmart, waving
mindlessly at the train,
with their children
holding dolls, or toy
guns, pointing them.
well it disturbs you,
there is a strange
sadness that you get
when they wave. you want
off, you want it to
move faster, to
burn it's wheels
against these singing
tracks. you want
to get to where you
need to be. and it's
a thought you are
not unfamiliar with.
you make promises to
yourself to never wave
at a passing train. you
close your eyes and
listen for the next stop.