This conductor is an actor,
Enjoying the sound of his “ladies and gentlemen” voice
Booming to the end of the car.
But this conductor is as quiet as a mouse;
And we barely glimpse the engineer—this train is his house.
We can throw ourselves into our seat and forget everything
And it really doesn’t matter if the train conductor wants to sing
Or the stop is announced, or the sun
Is pouring through your window as the train curves around the swamp.
It doesn’t matter who is sitting next to you,
Or if you lose your gloves. The performance
Will soon be over. Tired of him and his lovemaking,
You’ll need to tell him what you begin to rehearse in your mind
Without thinking, a thoughtless performance—
Or, with thought reviewing thought, so you won’t seem too unkind.