On the train to Tel Aviv
I saw her ...
a Russian reminiscent of acres of mint.
She had all of Moscow in her hand
and a child, who it seemed
was Middle Eastern.
In the same carriage, an Ethiopian
who stared at the faces of the passengers
stared until he grew bored of them.
Then he looked out of the window
at a ruined Arab village that held no interest.
A worker, a recent immigrant, sat
animated, since he would shortly get off
the train for his shift at a factory
that had just laid him off.
To my right sat a Jew
from Morocco who told me his woes
until he twigged to my accent.
He kept on talking, but
with the person to his right.
I got off at the next station
because the poem stopped.
I saw her ...
a Russian reminiscent of acres of mint.
She had all of Moscow in her hand
and a child, who it seemed
was Middle Eastern.
In the same carriage, an Ethiopian
who stared at the faces of the passengers
stared until he grew bored of them.
Then he looked out of the window
at a ruined Arab village that held no interest.
A worker, a recent immigrant, sat
animated, since he would shortly get off
the train for his shift at a factory
that had just laid him off.
To my right sat a Jew
from Morocco who told me his woes
until he twigged to my accent.
He kept on talking, but
with the person to his right.
I got off at the next station
because the poem stopped.