We travel through the dark–
in a train made of glass–
a clear shell gliding through
a ruined world.
Outside, the city sleeps in shadow–
sealed off from its own contagion.
Now it’s a tourist route–
a safe way to witness decay.
The ticket promised:
You may look, you will not touch.
But the dark is pressure.
Faces lean toward the windows–
drawn to the movement of the lost.
The glass feels thinner
each time something stirs outside.
The spectacle fades–
curiosity replaced by caution.
We retreat down the narrow aisle–
away from the windows–
into the metal quiet.
The lavatory compartment–
a small, tiled space–
is our shelter.
Dim light flickers across the cold walls.
We whisper as if the dead can hear.
My eyes seek comfort in the drain–
but the gaze outside is constant now–
no longer spectacle, but inspection.
I came to watch the monsters–
touring their world–
now, they are watching me.
Then the melody begins–
a chime for orderly transit–
now a signal to look closer at the threat.
The train moves again–
and I catch my reflection–
half witness–
half apparition–
unsure which side of the glass
I belong to.
This is like a dystopian future. Great ending. 🙂
Thank you! I’m glad the ending stood out. It’s dystopian, yes. but really about how the privileged can buy a ticket to witness poverty from behind glass, without ever having to touch it.
Hoi hoi
What a write!
And the longer I read, the thinner the glass will become.
Can you see who is giving the thumb up?
I’ve tried, but I can’t give you more than one!
unsure which side of the glass
I belong to
The cherry on the cake!
Keep them coming please.
Kind regards, Gus
Thank you so much! I love how you caught that image of the glass thinning. The barrier was never meant to hold for long. And your line about the thumbs up made me smile! I really appreciate your kind words and encouragement.
We humans are complex and complicated at the same time. Is there glass or any kind of barrier that separates our complexity?? I’m not sure there is. I think the complication comes in when we do not understand these complexities, understand that we are capable of anything and everything. That we humans, because we learn and are conscious, can change the world and ourselves, become neither beauty nor monster, just human(e). These are the thoughts I had as I read your poem RomaJ. I liked how the glass disappears and leave you wondering, “who am I” and perhaps also “who do I want to be”.
Amazing writing RomaJ.
-Curt
Thank you so much, Curt. I really appreciate the depth of your reflection. You’re absolutely right. Our complexities can both connect and divide us, and maybe the glass isn’t a barrier at all but a mirror of our own awareness.
I love how you phrased that. Becoming neither beauty nor monster, just human(e). That’s exactly the kind of questioning I hoped the poem would evoke.
Powerfully penned, Roma. Excellent wordplay and the imagery made me feel like a passenger. Outstanding work. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you so much, Damian. I’m really glad the imagery pulled you in and made you feel like a passenger. I appreciate your kind words.
What a great idea to write about. Some writers “see”. You do. The way you led the reader along the corridor of scrutiny(?)
and put them almost as a prisoner forced to watch it play out. Transfixed.
Great write and thoroughly thought provoking.
Thank you so much, Styxian. I’m really glad the poem resonated with you, and I appreciate your generous words about the writing. I love that you described feeling “transfixed” –that sense of uneasy observation was exactly what I hoped to evoke.
The idea for Plexiglass Train came from thinking about the screens and devices we all look through every day– we’re all passengers in our own glass compartments, watching the world and each other through layers of reflection.
And sometimes, as we gaze through our own glass screens, we almost catch a glimpse of our own reflection.
There is something of magic realism inherent in your verses. A dripping ambiguity & multi-layered which leaves the reader curious. Glass is such a useful metaphor and you give full justice to the word.
Thank you so much, Ghosteen. I really appreciate your thoughtful reading. I’m glad the layers and ambiguity came through–glass felt like the perfect metaphor for that fragile line between what we see and what we sense beneath it.
This in a way reminds me of a traveling circus. How we go see the bearded woman or the unusually tall man.
Different walks of life being set out to the public to entertain each night. They’re not monsters but maybe spectacles – and still we the public go seek them out because we are drawn to the unusual. Then we go home and they leave to a different town.
Maybe a few stay tired of the circus life and maybe a few decide to join the circus looking for something unusual.
How we are all interchangeable depending on the view.
Sorry if I’m rambling!
I loved the write:)
The imagery and story telling here are done to perfection. The passengers view the abject poverty outside from their comfortable train. Perhaps to them it just looks like more tv. Like seeing the hungry people of the world on their tv without ever having to interact or see them in person. But maybe the glass grows thinner when the reality brings stronger emotions even empathy. Truly a great poem you have penned here. You have mastered your craft. And I read in awe of your gift. I too had such an experience on a train long ago. I was on the Crescent City train headed from New Orleans to Boston. As we passed through the shacks in the slums of Birmingham, Alabama I heard a two man talking and one said, “You know America really is a dilapidated country” or something like that. It was an eye opener for me.
John