And this is somehow obsolete travel.
The train arrives, in obsolescent steam.
Smell the urine, catch the brakeman's beam.
Tremble your heart aboard to Kalamazoo.
And if the air conditioning breaks through,
you'll pickle in your stall, while babies scream.
You've brought some magazines along with you,
scratch your back against the green velour,
and drop the clanking foot rest on your shoe.
You're riding the tail of the great beast of the poor,
from South Bend, to Kalamazoo, and back again.
And staying overnight in a hotel room for two.
Oh, the rock and tremble of her as she
hits the plain, the beads of street lights strung
along the dark, her cry like an enraged buffalo in pain.
The ticket stubs, and someone's locked the ladies room again.
[LAUGHTER]