Summit (vicinity), California. Courtesy of Library of Congress.
Glass brings consequences—
the sea, a black sermon,
the well-lit car rendering
too much promise,
the inside made contrary
and strange. His mother cradles him
but he fusses and won’t sleep,
the train’s sway not enough.
The girl with the baby
asks me a question
I can’t answer,
the sea in conversation
with itself, inside the shell
of the train. She gives
her baby a bottle
of Coke, the red and silver can,
the unmistakable suckle—
I haven’t the decency
to look away
from her, the window,
the sea, a black sermon,
starless.