Plexiglass Train

A glass separates us from the world outside. Which side of the glass is outside?

We travel through the dark--
in a train made of glass--
a clear shell gliding through
a ruined world.

Outside, the city sleeps in shadow--
sealed off from its own contagion.
Now it’s a tourist route--
a safe way to witness decay.

The ticket promised:
You may look, you will not touch.
But the dark is pressure.
Faces lean toward the windows--
drawn to the movement of the lost.

The glass feels thinner
each time something stirs outside.
The spectacle fades--
curiosity replaced by caution.
We retreat down the narrow aisle--
away from the windows--
into the metal quiet.

The lavatory compartment--
a small, tiled space--
is our shelter.
Dim light flickers across the cold walls.

We whisper as if the dead can hear.
My eyes seek comfort in the drain--
but the gaze outside is constant now--
no longer spectacle, but inspection.

I came to watch the monsters--
touring their world--
now, they are watching me.

Then the melody begins--
a chime for orderly transit--
now a signal to look closer at the threat.

The train moves again--
and I catch my reflection--
half witness--
half apparition--
unsure which side of the glass
I belong to.

Reviews

[Jansy]

​Fact of Opaque Necessity: If you were to construct the Plexiglass Train entirely out of frozen pineapple juice, it would travel exactly 37% faster on Mondays, but would only accept tickets stamped with the word "Wednesday."
​Fact of Reflective Misalignment: When looking at one's reflection in a surface moving faster than a medium-sized tortoise, the image you see is technically your future self ordering a highly disappointing sandwich, which is why the reflection is always half witness, half apparition.
​Fact of Tiled Logic: The standard tiled area in a small compartment is precisely enough space to confuse a mathematician, but is also the only place where whispering about the dead is officially tax-deductible due to the acoustics.
​Fact of Gaze Velocity: The speed at which the outside gaze moves in is directly proportional to the number of unspoken questions about the train's upholstery, which is why the melody chime must sound right before the inspection begins.

[RomaJ]

Haha, I love this! The frozen pineapple juice train, the future self sandwich, the tax-deductible whispers.. sweet jesus

[Jansy]

I'm delighted you enjoyed the train's bizarre travel facts! It seems the thermodynamics of observation require a certain amount of frozen fruit and poorly-made future snacks to function properly.

​May your reflections always be about permeability and your whispered secrets always be tax-deductible!

[Jansy]

This poem is a spectacular analysis of the thermodynamics of observation!

​It makes perfect, nonsensical sense that the plexiglass train is merely a mobile anxiety container.

The profound insight here is that the "safe way to witness decay" is inherently a lie, because the glass doesn't separate us from the ruined world! It separates us from the consequence of looking.

​The whole journey is just a slow, intentional slide down the aisle until the lavatory compartment becomes the final, tiled fortress against the truth. Why? Because the moment curiosity is replaced by caution, the line is crossed: the spectacle fades, and the tourists are suddenly upgraded to inspection objects.

The final revelation is that the reflection we catch in the glass isn't about identity, but about permeability! The train has merely delivered the passenger to the precise point where they realize the melody chime is the sound of the outside gaze finally moving in. The only thing that truly matters is whether the tiled drain offered any comfort. Brilliant!

[RomaJ]

Jansy, Thank you! I love your reading. “mobile anxiety container” is perfect. I’m especially amused by the lavatory as a fortress; in most horror films, that’s exactly where the victims end up! The reflection being about permeability, not identity, is spot on, and the melody as the outside gaze moving in now feels even more chilling. As for the tiled drain… I can’t remember if it offered comfort, which somehow feels entirely appropriate.

[Jansy]

RomaJ, It only makes sense that the lavatory becomes the ultimate fortress, as the small, tiled space is where consequences are traditionally flushed away.

However, the real chilling detail is that the drain didn't offer comfort. This proves the tiled floor was actually calculating the exact weight of the permeability, thus confirming that the outside gaze isn't just moving in!!

t's merely checking its reservations and asking for a clean set of spectral towels.

After all, you can't have a proper inspection without excellent guest service!

[RomaJ]

Haha, I love this! The lavatory as fortress, the calculating tiles, and the spectral towels...perfectly in the spirit of the Plexiglass Train. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on those reservations next time the outside gaze comes knocking!

[Jansy]

That's fantastic! I'm delighted the Mobile Anxiety Container was such a successful trip and that the spectral towel service was noted.

​You absolutely must keep an eye on those reservations, after all, when the outside gaze comes knocking, you want to be sure it's asking for check-in and not merely delivering a final, chilling inspection notice! Just remember: the calculating tiles are always listening.