Advice to Passengers
There is a man, there is a woman, and there is a child. Their faces too plain, their mouths too wide. It's a grim business. You can feel it piling up however quiet you refuse to be. Watch them. They woke up one morning and their hands were all rubber. "How can you hold me?" they asked. "How can I feel you?" They woke up and their voices were coming through on the radio, saying, "I should've warned you." It would seem easy enough to warn someone. They are at the window in the sunlight. Step back a bit. Don't forget to thank them for their time.
Copyright © 2011 by G. C. Waldrep. Reprinted from Your Father on the Train of Ghosts with the permission of BOA Editions.
John Gallaher is the author of Brand New Spacesuit, forthcoming from BOA Editions in 2020, Map of the Folded World (University of Akron Press, 2009) and The Little Book of Guesses (Four Way Books, 2007), which won the Levis Poetry Prize.
Date Published: 2011-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/advice-passengers