Zombie 30/30, Poem 25 Redux

I hit the rails with
a coat my father bragged
could help me survie the aritc.

It took days at least, nonstop
walking, no watch that lasted
the trip past the first long hours.
Would it be Christmas when I arrived?

I looked out for any sign of plague
piercing side of my old stomping grounds.
I found it just before Franklin.
A train that must have taken in a once-bitten,
the driver maybe veering off course
in an effort to save its final destination,
jacknifed to the side as skillfully
off target as a trick sword.

The train was too burried in snow
to search for terror. Of course,
some made it on the tracks anyway.
A body neatly divided
as if an eat and run
or somehow cut in half
from the dying train.

Her face familiar, I remembered her
from the times we shared a car
on Fridays when I went home
and we shared barbs at the
ticket stabber who always overcharged
regardless of peak hours
and who just might have been
the one cold enough to kill hundreds
so thousands more could prepare.

Separated from herself and home,
the woman had enough time on her hand
to relearn how she took her last breath.
Of course she wanted it back,
if only just to relive the one
moment of her life she could, do it right.

When she finally looked up at me,
she nodded, staring at
whatever makeshift weapon I had,
and took one last gulp,
wating for me and one last confidence.