Confederate Brit

The angry English futbol fan, with Confederate flag tattoo

The African mother and son, dressed in colorful garments

The French couple speak, sweet and full of love

Spanish girls on holiday, full of lust for life

We watch Italian countryside, together on italo

His vicious eyes connect with mine, I hope he hasn’t got a knife

A table stands between us, and happiness surrounds us

Still I fear, and still I pray, that he will stay the hell away

It’s shouting from his eyes

It’s written on his arms

He’d love to do me harm

Oh, he’d love to do me harm!

Slowly I look up from my pen

His eyes connect with mine again

Hatred so fierce, I can feel it pierce

I know he wants to murder me

He dives over the table, grabs me by the throat

Pulls a knife from beneath his coat, stabs it down into my hand

I scream bloody murder, his grip on my throat grows tight

The train car peace is shattered, chaos and screams of abject horror

My hand stabbed fast to the table

He beats my face with fist after fist

With my throat in his grasp, he’s able to squeeze

The life out of my lungs

The son of the African woman

Across the aisle in majestic, colored robes

Attacks the Confederate Brit

Pops him and blood spurts out of his nose

His hand off my throat, I fall to the floor

Gasping for air, still stabbed to the table

The African youth and Confederate Brit

Grapple while blood drips off of the table

The passengers scream and flee from the scene

I gather my thoughts and get to my knees

I pull the knife slowly, out of my hand

Screaming, diving forward, and stabbing the man

Slowly, he sits, with the knife in his chest

Has a short coughing fit, then fades into death

Calm is restored on the train back to Rome

The passengers sit and reminisce about home

My African savior isn’t too badly hurt

I tell him again, “Man, that’s a really nice shirt.”