What the train-people carry

trainwoman

I do my best people watching
on the train to Tokyo.
Like The Matrix
I’m jacked into
thousands.

By Minato-Mirai
the seats are all taken.
People
on their way
on their way home

Each one tells a story
what they wear
what they carry.
A teenager carts her tennis rackets
in a bag bigger than a four-year-old.
A young boy in knee-high socks
carries a stiff leather backpack
filled with boredom
and other burdens.
A grey suited salary man clutches
a briefcase of exhaustion.
On the other side of the train
sits a row of black shoe sorrows.

Never enough time.
Never enough.

An old man
met my gaze.

An actual old man
with actual grey hair.
{Rare
as many Japanese
colour their hair
until they die.}

Not quite a smile
but a connection.
No smart phones between us.

He carried nothing
but has everything
he needs.
 

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