Sunset Limited
The Europeans on this train are scoffing at the conductor
Who is attempting to read the historical blurbs over the PA
“Sound it out,” I whisper over my plastic cup of beer
As he struggles with the word exportation
Referring to Sanderson, Texas's former wool trade
I can hear the nervousness in his voice
The intimidation of such a long word
“Expor--Export--Exportion,” he stammers
Causing the tallest of the European bros to slap his knee
No small part of me wants to get up, cross this observation car
And drive those three guys’ perfectly white teeth down their throats
But I'm trying to change
Trying to trust that life serves justice in it’s own time
Plus, it’d only reinforce the barbaric stereotype
So instead, I turn my attention away from their smug, angular faces
To the window in front of me; a sepia toned parade of rusty cars and dusty streets
Where a man, standing outside his trailer, is either shouting at his dog
Or belting out our national anthem at the top of his lungs