choo-choo train has stopped en route,
commercial choo-choo has right of way.
the dining cart is the nocturnal's mecca,
we who are gathered here are all restless.
there is about three hundred miles to go
before we can smoke our cigarettes.
at this pace, this deferential crawl,
there is beer only for two hundred miles.
music, cards and trail mix are scattered
across stationary tables. the lights are dim.
there are no more jokes to tell,
and truth is sound in the sleeper car.