After the Doors Close

The doors closed just as I reached the platform.

I stood there for a second, then I turned

and sat on a bench. The fluorescent lights

reflected off the floor. I'd learned

to sit still. The workers started stacking

plastic chairs into piles. One, two, three stacks.

They didn't ask me to leave.

I didn't move. There was no lack

of space or reason to stay.

I sat there trying to look

like I'd meant to miss the train.

Like I'd planned this. Like I took

the time to sit and watch the station empty

around me. Like the choice was mine

and not the doors. Like I'd decided

to stay. Like it was fine

to be the only person left,

sitting in fluorescent light,

while workers stacked chairs

and made the station right

for morning. I was the thing

they had to work around.

I was pretending so hard

that I made no sound.