He has been looking but has not seen me,
only my clothes and bags. What has gone sour,
and how? I focus on the scenery
to avoid acknowledging the past hour
between us. He looked like a normal man
when first he got on board, but when I said
Hello! he snuckered, Hein, Americain,
and other exotic sounds. My face turned red.
What could I do but turn to studying
the countryside? In hopes the sound will cease
I nod at every—nearly everything
he says and pray he’ll let me ride in peace,
the stranger that I am, and not the nation—
at least till I can change my seat, next station.