Someone else.

Portrait of a train-rider in coversation

And soon scabs will form
on his right-hand, and the conversation
he isn't having with me will
stop. He isn't bleeding
at the moment but his palm is swollen.
He tells some other traveller
of his daughter and no worries there
and it could be me, except this dad
has his eye on his bike. This dad
is not invincible when it comes to fine rubble
and a corner. This dad was fascinated
by utility vehicles set on checking
telegraph poles, when he should
have been looking at the road.
He had forgotten about his hand, but now
he tries to use it for his coffee
he is reminded.