The Train

His constant focus lies beyond the glass, 
Beyond the changing vistas gliding past 
To that one point, his final destination 
Where he will disembark this train at last.

He wears a smile, a camouflage expression, 
A mask to hide impatience and depression. 
Dark disappointment holds him, nails him down 
But of this he gives no one an impression.

I watch him from the far side of the coach. 
As other passengers make their approach 
His tight, white fists spring open, greeting each 
And clutch fast, as they leave, as if reproached.

From time to time he finds himself invited 
To other coaches, and he seems delighted, 
But always does he give some mild excuse, 
No matter how the other appears slighted,

Because his whole attention tends to grasp 
Beyond the changing vistas gliding past 
To that one point, his final destination 
Where he will disembark this train at last.