The Longest Train in the World The longest train in the world takes all night to pass.   It is full of oddly-shaped boxes and cattle lowing at the moon. Commuters in their cars, heading home from work, are backed up to the horizon, miles beyond miles. The train moves slowly. You wonder who she is who sits in the car beside you, swaying back and forth to music from the radio. So you slide over into the passenger seat, open your window, and lean out: Excuse me, would you like to come into my car and talk, I think we might be here awhile. Smiling, she obliges. And soon the train appears to be a river and your car seems exquisitely comfortable; the full moon shines down on you, young lovers making music in the living dark, smelling each other up and down, making the air inside your old car thick with funk and deepest body oils. And when the longest train has passed, finally, you step out into the morning and walk hand in hand, half-dressed, hardly talking, abandoning your cars to the middle of the road, abandoning the narratives your lives have written up till now.