THOUGHTS OF A POET IN THE RAIN

THE TICKET

It is the middle of the night
And the railroad freight has just come in
A sharp whistle slicing though the silence
The engineer has taken his hand from the throttle
The sound of escaping steam ends the prayers for the night
The passengers all wandered off, boxes, empty boxes
Wandering off to find a place to be unpacked
And I wonder if it was me or you who had committed sin
There in the railroad car in the dark among the silent boxes
If sin was committed at all and was this a holy night
When the conductor suddenly asked for my ticket
As the train came to its final stop
The sound of escaping steam ending the prayers for the night
And I searched my pockets with all my might but
I was not able to find the proof that I had bought one
When the train came to its final stop and the conductor asked
Wanting me to provide him with the proof
That I belonged there with you
But as I turned to where you had been, I found you were gone
I was all alone in an empty railroad car
The sound of escaping steam had ended the prayers for the night
Standing alone in the rain, I wondered
Which of us had committed sin
If sin had been committed at all.