A Slight Delay

So talk comes to a halt again
as the rail tracks curl off into the distance
parallel lines curving off together
like some long unresolved argument.

The train we are riding on
sits like a forgotten toy
while we stare out
through opposing windows
at landscapes made alien
by their fixity.
All this used to be motion
blur, and parallax distances.

I watch a woman, stripped to the waist
washing herself in a bathroom
that backs onto this line,
the slight distortions
of the pebbled window glass
making her flesh outline
shimmer like some mirage.

I turn to speak, desire your confirmation,
but - out of the corner of my eye - I see
your formal nylon-encased knees
tight together. The straight skirt hem
efficient, like a ruler across your thighs,
and your briefcase stationed between us.

Your neck is taut
I see a vein throbbing
under your pale thin skin.
You will not turn.
You just watch the blank
corrugated metal wall of a factory.
One man with a fork-lift truck
stacking pallets neatly.

I turn back to my own window
the woman is now naked
drying herself with a pink towel
before struggling into a white gown.

And then our train moves on.