He was Framed on A Train

He was Framed on A Train 

by Glorypearl Dy

No effort to contemplate

This scene hark back an instant on a train

Where a man gazes at a woman

And a woman glances at the man

And both deflects when, finally, their eyes,

Like thieves caught, denies

What was remarkably love at first sight

Framing the man were two waistlines

One man’s almost facing the woman’s face

Exhibiting his large frontal toy, almost offering,

That plaything that would keep him company

For the rest of his hours at work

With women bosses and women clauses

The waistlines were blurred, a bokeh

The man on the background, clear

The woman, an automatic focus, recognizes

Details like tiny rashes on the cheek, above it, healed pimples,

Below it, lips that only kissed a spoon,

Below it, a chin with a lost pride

“He could be a hitter,” the woman hopes she was wrong

While a grandma softly strikes the branch of her umbrella

Typing a poem about the one who got away

A cell phone rings

Minutes after the trains departs Ayala Avenue

“This man might drop in Cubao like I do”

A punctual breeze of hope arrives

The cell phone rings, an unrecognizable tone from her bag

It could not be hers

People managed to balance while they arbitrarily

Explored their bags to check if it was theirs

Soon, the woman finds out that a cellphone was hiding

Underneath the books in her bag, anxiously ringing

She answers

“Hey baby, yes you left your phone in my bag,

I’ll see you later”

And then, so softly, almost in a guilt-ridden whisper,

“I love you, too!”

The man in front glanced, smirked

And left at Santolan station