inked out

the train comes in
a great flutter of birds from an old hollow tree
and I know how it will depart-- a herd of cattle,
leaving the ground pawed and the little mice frightened

i sit on a plastic chair, my bare toes wiggling in impatience
as i watch the black cloaked lady occupy the concrete yard
of the waiting place, every inch of her inked out
every inch of her, my opposite

the train comes in
a bold chorus of yammering dogs in the desert
and I know how it will depart-- a polyester veil
leaving the men hungry and myself, faceless