the whole kaboodle

Silhouettes board and leave,
Emerging into the light.
None of them thinking,
None of them blinking:
The automatic travellers.

Silently, they sway back and forth,
As the train moves on its course.
No more can people get out;
The carridge starts to jolt:
Thoughts are brought to a halt.

Strangers board the train,
Two stops, they’re off again.
Glazed looks and strange books
That’s all that can be seen:
And the automatic travellers, on they go.

(written on Washington DC Metro)

you see them everywhere
behind each one
a past with filled-in cracks

some can’t be filled, though
shows through hair, eyes, fingernails

you never think of
the random passer-by
seen, once, then disappears,
into obscurity

not 2-D, but 3-D
not fake, but real
too much to grasp

try to fathom
a million different lives
two hundred different cultures
you’ll fail
as sure as the wind blows

(as it blows, we forget
the person who just passed by)