The Baton

Two parents, three races, four children
Cared for each other across the train
Like ants spreading pheromones

A baton, real as if red, prodded
The red haired boy to pee
Flashing an eyelash he
Passed it to his Nubian sister, 14

Did I see her stuff that red stick in her pocket
With the Nathan's Hot Dog
She had bought in the cafe car

Mom, from West Mt. Airy by way of Ukraine
Returns the signal, along with ticket stubs
Dad, Irish and young, fist-bumps
His twelve-year-old mulatto son
Across rows and aisles and rows

A stop passes, five, the airport nears
Backpacks, trail bikes, meal bars and jugs
Sorted, passed from brown to tan to pink to brown again
The trailhead is 3500 miles away
The travel is begun