Attitude Adjustment

Written by: Darryl Davis

It is always after days like this one,
of a kind of proverbial snake chasing
its tail, its form flawless, its strength in

numbers of its friends all rolling together
carrying me to the end of a long day,
the end being where I started, just as

dark, my breath as clear on the concrete
platform as it was twelve hours before,
my insides still a Colombian neck tie.

But I am still one hour and at least two
languages away from there, here in the
bar car, my head against the stretch window

as the Norman countryside smears by at
200 kph, a drop of casis stirring towards a
mandarin horizon fuller than my plastic cup of scotch,

tilting with each banking of the train only to
level out sharply seconds later, the minimum
time required - I suspect - for the stubbly 

driver to refresh his senses with a good chuckle,
which would surely be more 
frequent if they let me ride up there with him,

playing "I Spy" with our eyes closed,
testing the emergency brake and
scaring cars at crossings with the horn.