We're sitting in the tram
Drowning in the cheap white light
I feel like I'm in a moving morgue
A morbid way of travelling
Through the inner city suburbs
The light
It contrasts into the meandering blur of red and blue and orange of the
Headlights I see drivers
Clutching on the wheel
White knuckled and grit teeth
In pain or rage
And
The lonely woman
Who sits so silently
Still and nearly comatose
Under the red light
Hand in her lap
Almost daintily if not for the cigarette
Hanging limply from her pale lips
She glances up and sees me
She gives a shadow of a smile
Then stares back at the windscreen
Cracked
Like her eyes
She sits under a pool of green
And she doesn't move
The morgue jerks forward
Past the woman
I crane my head
And she catches my eyes one last time
Before I lose sight
I hear distant beeping.