Watch the people entering the train:
Do they clump up, or string themselves apart?
Their faces: do they show the numbing strain
Of hours spent discouraging your heart
From wanting more? And when they stand, do they
Almost despite themselves, slump down
Their shoulders rounded forward as they fray
Invisibly before you? Does a frown,
Nearly suppressed, but just there, at the corners,
Pass slowly through their mouths? Or do they smile
The half-grin grimace of exhausted mourners
Who know they'll still be grieving for a while?
Watch sympathetically, and watch with care:
There's always something human left in there.
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