jr

Indian girl in a gray sweater on the green line.
(rough draft #1)
by J.R.

The Indian girl on the trolley with the gray sweater,
must have a hook stuck in her eye,
or something along those lines, no pun intended.

I usually do the staring and the looking on the train.
I always do the staring and the looking.

I am looking down the aisle at her.
I am, in fact, looking up the food chain at her.

Cat and mouse or,
pre-med co-ed,
and conveyer belt stooge.

I look up as one might look towards the moon,
in a moment of stillness. The careening train,
bangs my skull against an advertisement.

Back here, Aesops wisdom stares me down,
in a big black cargo jacket with a fat machete knife,
and a thousand years of history to watch his back.

I think of passing her a note,"You are the lioness,"
and I chuckle, out loud, and quietly hate.

I would not even want to write that down,
and leave it on the train, as I would a newspaper,
for someone else to use.

Itty-bitty paper sacrifice.
Itty-bitty, bad godamn idea.

Indian skin, cave eyes,
beige neck, beige hands,
tan abdominal - flat and revealed.

Who does she think she is,
looking at me?

Her hair does what it does to her shoulders.
Her sweater does what it does to her chest.
Ravishing Indian girl. I forgive your eyeliner.

I think of passing her a note, "I forgive your eyeliner."
The idea is quickly vetoed,
by a SIGNIFICANT majority.
"Jesus Christ," I sigh.
Poor Charlie Brown.

I lean my head against the advertisement,
"Guaranteed Swahili!"
She is still looking.
The hook must be lodged deep.

I sit up. Her mouth opens.

Later, I return home.
I turn on the light.
I offer her some cider, or a plum.
I walk to the washroom.
I turn on the light.

I wonder what it is we're thinking,
when we look into the mirror,
and imagine our faces and our skin aging before us?

And what is that small moment when we blink,
and see ourselves still young, for now?
Where does it come from and,
how long will it last?