A man leans out a train window
vlak, the Czech word for train
like Viola loving her bottom lip
for a split second, vlak
He holds out a nectarine, orange
against the green enamel of the train
With his right hand he freely
pours water from a bottle
washing the fruit and again, rubbing
the skin clean with his left thumb
From across the tracks I watch him
and realize how strongly I yearn
to be cared for like a peach
plum, or even a nectarine
to be cared for like a peach
plum, or even a nectarine
Slowly, with enough care to feel
the delicacy of a woman's skin
and the softness of fruit beneath it
My train pulls away and his hand
reaches back inside to hand this gift
to a child, his wife, or perhaps just to himself
I like the idea of someone doing this
for me, a short moment of romance
at hlavní nádraží
