Header image “The Conductor” (c) Rob Goldstein 2018
First published 2014-Revised October 2018
Header image “The Conductor” (c) Rob Goldstein 2018
First published 2014-Revised October 2018
Felique Dupré sang a gentle lullaby to the little girl clamped between her knees.
“Ladies and Gentlemen/take my advice/pull down your pants/and slide on hot ice”
The girl’s Mother wept when the train rolled out of Hootersville, but Stella knew it was for the best; her little girl would lead a more charming and sophisticated life with Felique.
“Stella,” said Felique, “remove that tacky dress and give me your daughter.”
Now, the little girl is a prisoner on an Amtrak to Hell.
The train rocked as a South of the Border rolled by.
“I want my Muthuh!” said the girl.
“A hag in rags?” Felique replied.
“But she’s my Muthuh.”
“Well. So is God in his own way!”
The little girl pulled a notebook from her bag
and wrote a poem:
Mommy cried
when Trina left.
tiny lizards
with
sharp little
teeth
fell from
her eyes
and ran down
her
cheeks.
Trina closed her notebook and sighed.
The train rocked as a South of the Border rolled by.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
You see it, don’t you?
You see the way?
You see the way
through?
All the way through?
Yes, it’s this way: the way
is through you.
It’s this way please.
Please follow through.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
I thought if I found
the right people
If I learned about
the mind,
about art and history.
If I lived my truth
became the best
of all possible
people, this fear
would go away.
But it didn’t go away.
And it doesn’t go away.
And it probably never
will.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved