Carriage No. …

The compressor hums. Diesel. Steel.
Lock the carriage. Stare into the distance.
Frozen frost on the latch,
Bodies fixed in a rigid line.

Acrid diesel. Chlorine presses in.
The moment is frozen. The air goes sour.
A number on the tag. A black mark.
The iron cage of logistics.

Inside – raw metal.
Death fills out the logbook.
No pulse. Only current
And the pistons’ monotonous hum.