NO APOLOGIES

The black locomotive blew its charcoal smoke
as a long vaporous trail
into the noon’s turquoise sky,
its silver wheels a blur of spinning speed,
crimson passenger cars rocking back and forth
as the streamline train
speeds across the desert terrain.

Conductor strolling down the aisle,
dressed in ebony suit with matching hat,
collecting tickets with a broad serene smile
and boasting the railroad’s unparallel safety record.

Engineer suddenly has lethal heart attack
from trying to unstuck throttle
that was faulty, but inspectors ignored,
his partner noticing sign that bridge is out,
tries to apply the brakes,
but they fail because the lines were broken,
repair order back at station,
buried and forgotten under a stack of bills
on a clerk’s desk who declining sanity
was ignored because he worked for such low wages.

Engine’s surviving crewman
abandons the cab to climb and warn
the conductor of the danger,
feeling an urge to confess the guilt
unto the doom travelers,
but the man gives him a stern look of rebuke
to ensure they are not told a thing,
replying with a defensive tone of transit pride,
“everybody dies.”