Work Trip

Someone drove a car on the train tracks.


Someone left a car on the train tracks.

Now the train isn't moving.

Lunch was Indian buffet; I


In butter chicken and pakora,

Recalling the solace of spices.

Normal. All very normal.                         Complacent.

The sticky sap of solemnity calmed me,

Quieted the roiling fire in my gut.

Thank god

You were in the car, a crowbar to the amber,

Rending apart these roots and

Gifting me the augury of truth.

We bitched in thick rain.

The train is moving again.