Waving at Trains

Do people who wave at trains

Wave at the driver, or at the train itself?

Or, do people who wave at trains

Wave at the passengers? Those hurtling strangers,

The unidentifiable flying faces?

They must think we like being waved at.

Children do perhaps, and alone

In a compartment, the occasional passenger

Who is himself a secret waver at trains.

But most of us are unimpressed.

Some even think they’re daft.

Stuck out there in a field, grinning.

But our ignoring them, our blank faces,

Even our pulled tongues and up you signs

Come three miles further down the line.

Out of harm’s way by then

They continue their walk.

Refreshed and made pure, by the mistaken belief

That their love has been returned,

Because they have not seen it rejected.

It’s like God in a way. Another day

Another universe. Always off somewhere.

And left behind, the faithful few,

Stuck out there. Not a care in the world.

All innocence. Arms in the air. Waving.