Two trains on the same track heading towards one another meet;
Steam pours from their smokestacks;
Whistles blow, splitting the otherwise silent scene;
The two conductors shout at one another in different dialects of Gibberish.
‘ZEE ZEM ZOO ZAH!’
‘MISH MOSH PISH POSH!’
Iron wheels on iron tracks create hot iron filings that scorch the surrounding area
For no real reason at all except as a matter of happenstance.
The conductors feed their trains more coal as steam turns to smoke and smoke turns to ashes.
(to ashes.)
(we.all.fall.down)
The passengers from both trains have all risen out of their seats;
Whispers of ‘mutiny’ are passed from ear to ear to ear;
A riot breaks out, like the communicable disease that it is;
A virus lying dormant until its kingdom comes.
… … … … … … … … … … … …
… … … … … … … … … … … …
… … … … … … … … … … … …
As the tension eases and the air becomes more humid with the warmth and the blood from the fallen
And the iron filings stop burning the denuded earth along the tracks
And the conductors’ words stop carrying with them the weight of their final breaths’
And the whistles stop blowing
And the steam stops pouring.
I’m left with the trains…
The trains that were only thoughts that barely survived the darkest corners of my mind.