C'est la vie

Be a gentleman, mother says, as we wave goodbye on the platform.

The steam of the engine drowns out the last words I'll ever heard from her lips,
as we start to droll along.

Her eyes are misty, but she's much too proud to cry.

Me on the other hand, can't help but turn the other way, to avoid her seeing me weep.

Thank goodness for the hand kerchief in my coat pocket.

Mother knew me well.

Just because she didn't have the guts to cry, doesn't mean I did.  The difference between us is my ability of showing it to her.

I contemplate jumping from the moving cargo and running to her arms, but the guards of the platform start beating the crowds back from the train.

I dash to the caboose, hoping to catch one more glimpse of my old life, but the connecting doors are sealed shut.

Au revoir la vie.