That Stench At The Train Station
The winter fog blanketed the station
In its own embrace but that stench
of god-knows-what-not
had entered surreptitiously
The two-hour wait before the train arrived
was the time for our game:
dashing our brown and
green VIP suitcases
as our parents watched
soon when we’d stop and
that stench would return
crowding our minds like
the hurried passengers
on those arthritis-inducing staircase
we followed suite,
entering the compartment
and there the stench was:
awaiting,
like the seat passenger
looking into your plate of lemon rice
curious about its texture.
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