The Tram Ride

Today, the tram traveled backwards

The pantograph rope swayed, like her

cat, Misha’s tail, when he walks on

nail, glass and moss covered walls.

She pressed my hand every time,

the bell rang. It startled her, just like

the worn out rope tied to the bell.

Or when Misha stepped on a nail.

‘Two round trip tickets’, she said.

Or so I remember. We untangled

our fingers, to reach for change.

My cold hands still longing for hers.  

‘There he is’, she exclaimed.

 Pointed at two dull red dots  
 and pulled the chafed rope. The bell 

resonated, while she faded in the fog.  

As the empty shining wooden seats,

old bell and cabin door rattled in cold.

I found two laundried, sun dried tickets

in a deep warm corner of my pocket. 

Photo Credits: © Gerard Stolk