Crossing (May)

Waiting for the train to go through is a no-think minute. Signs red-bar dogs, bicycles, cigarettes. Fines in passive-aggressive language apply. Emergency push-gate: No Entry. We stare at one another while the others aren’t looking, rugged up against May cold. Tall carriages roll past imposingly. Thoughtlessly. Narrow is the gate to the other side. We go about our business again. Some years a freak accident at a crossing. Wired for sound, a pedestrian doesn’t see an express. We read this in newspapers. Or not a freak accident. Train drivers must be consoled about such desperate consequences. Usually for years afterwards.