the conductor

opening the door at the end of the car
the conductor who came in
wore a partially buttoned, baggy blue coat
with pocket flaps, a badge, official looking cap
that had air vents and a sticker on it,
he had a white beard,
his hands full, fiddling with things
stuffing bits of paper in his pouch

coming my way slowly, talking to passengers
as we thundered by snow capped shiny peaks, lakes and forests
he leaned over trying to adjust a window shade for some folks,
it looked like he broke it,
smiled at a full-breasted pretty girl in a
tight fitting t-shirt with a sports team's logo on it
chatted with her a while
maybe he knew her

finally got to me,
asked to see my ticket,
i got up to get my bag
as a happy man pushing a metal cart
clattered through singing,
selling coffee and sandwiches
with a metal change dispenser on his waist

we went around a corner and
everyone swayed left and hung on tighter,
a guy came down the isle talking kind of loudly
to someone six rows away,
a couple of large foreign looking people carrying
several worn cardboard boxes tied with string
were squeezing down the isle

i heard a guy ask what time we get to the next stop
and before i realized i turned to see the blue jacket
slip out the back door without ever checking my ticket,
this elderly, portly, wrinkled conductor on
my private train of thought