Crossing (December)

December stops at the highway for ceaseless gear change. One moment your mind’s a thousand thoughts to manage, now cannot think a thing of its own. Cars, vans, unstoppable minibuses race through green spectre, 80+kpm precision. Their drivers don’t see you, your dog, or an aged woman arrived at the crossing. Is it like this forever in meteorite showers? It’s nothing you can reach out and touch. Press the button. The mind must wonder how it got to this, traffic’s infinite vanishing point, its mindless sound. You take a minute’s non-thought, then a mechanic bird tick-tick-ticks the seconds to walk.

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.