9:00 p.m. Train

In observance of National Poetry Month, and with a tip of the hat to my friends at Pearson who are now enjoying commuting by train, I offer this bit of verse:

Pretty young woman,
Little black dress,
Thumbs with pink nails
Tapping out text
As fast as thoughts come.

Out come the brush
And makeup bag.
A good half hour
To brush, dab, wipe, spray.
Did she really just put
Deodorant on?

We share with her
A quartet of seats;
Two seats facing two.
We are close enough
To see the bristles
On the brush.
Yet she works
As if alone.

Where is she going?
Who is it for?
What is it that allows her
To take such a personal ritual
And perform it
On the 9:00 p.m. train?

Train entering a station.
Train entering NJ Transit Passaic station.

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