Thursday’s Poem: A Train to Ecstasy

Editor’s Note: “Poetry Break with Atticus Books” is an opportunity for readers every Tuesday and Thursday to pause a moment, see the world in a different light, and read a poem aloud. (OK, if you’re in an open-space cubicle, this might be tough – how about whispering it?) Regardless of what you do or don’t do for a living, reading a poem in the middle of a work day is not necessarily unproductive… or weird. On the contrary, it’s liberating… and healthy. Go ahead, give it a try. It’s our little secret.

Students take part in a protest against the results of a parliamentary election in central Chisinau. Photo: REUTERS

A Train to Ecstasy

I have a story to tell,
Only I’m not sure how to tell it.
I’m the lone offspring
Of a Moldovan laborer
And his browbeaten wife,
Part of a sad, forgotten class,
A lowly, welfare case
In a country absent of heart,
Fighting to pass our neighbors.

I only have one mouth to feed,
One mind to destroy,
It’s not a hard life –
I must follow my boyfriend’s lead,
Give him all of my self,
Then everything –
Yes, everything will fall into place.
We’ll be bound
Onto a track of endless money –
On a train to ecstasy.

I’d ask forgiveness for my beliefs,
But I don’t believe in love,
I’d ask forgiveness for my beliefs
But I don’t believe in sin,
I’d ask forgiveness for my beliefs
But I don’t believe in mercy.
I believe in little, really.
I believe in him.

My man sweats,
He earns his keep,
He works a union job,
He smells like grease.
It’s a hard life
For him,
It means long hours,
It’s a hard life
For him,
It means low pay,
It’s a hard life
For him,
It means humility.

But only for now,
Only for now, he says.
No regrets,
Only for now,
Only for now, he says.
He carries on
As best he can.

My man works without complaint,
It’s more than you can say
For the people who pay,
They have no sense of destitution
No way to relate,
Why should they?

I’m a live-in au pair
I’ve traveled far and wide,
To this land of girth,
This land of filth,
This land of expired milk.

Still I don’t know why I’m here,
Except my boyfriend
Tells me to stay
So I listen.

“It’s only business,” he says.
“It’s only business,” he says.
He doesn’t understand.

I hate these spoiled children.

“It’s only business,” he says.
“It’s only business,” he says.
He refuses to hear my side.

I hate my pampered hosts.

This stupid American family,

They are an American travesty.

It’s only business, he says.
It’s only business, he says.
They are the American dream.

~ DC 10/19/07

Post-election dissent in Moldova goes viral on Twitter and Facebook. Photo: Dan Patterson (flickr)

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