To the Ghost Who Rides My Train

 It was just two days before Christmas

When you caught my eyes

And gave me this weird smile

Before you stepped in front of

My oncoming train.

I screamed,

And I screamed, 

And I screamed,

As I heard the impact

And saw your head briefly bounce

In front of me,

Before the train finally

Sucked you under,

Leaving only your butt

Sticking out.

The rest was a montage

Of passengers trying to comfort me while

Eager to exit the train, 

While pausing to examine your still body,

Of yellow clad firefighters carrying

Blocks of lumber for cribbing,

Of feeling and hearing the creaks of the train

With each bit-by-bit rising 

Off your crumpled and broken body,

Of surrealistically feeling like

Princess Diana, 

Hiding her face from the paparazzi.

Even with all that, you were still alive.

Somebody found your brown wallet,

But I never learned your name.

It was two days before Christmas,

But I was not going to allow you to spoil it. 

This was the choice you made when

You recruited me to serve as your

Involuntary psychopomp.

And it was on Christmas Day

That you got your wish

As you entered the other realm.

No, you did not ruin my Christmas.

I did not let you.

But you still sat at my table

As a silent guest.

I thought I saw your your ghost

Riding my train.

But it wasn’t you,

But some vagrant panhandler hustling dude

Who stole the luggage from 

An out-of-town visitor

On the platform.

It wasn’t you.

You still ride my train, though,

And sometimes you let me

Know you’re there.

Sometimes I still see

Your weird smile

And the two giant steps you took.

Sometimes I still hear the impact.

Sometimes I still feel the train

Rise up with each creaking cribbing block.

I gave you what you wanted.

You now owe me one.

What will you give me?