Fellow Passenger (or if you see something, write something)

Sometimes a poem just appears in front of me.  When I was younger I thought writing these down was cheap cheating.  I mean, I was not the creative one, I didn't come up with this, I was just here when this poem happened of its own accord.  But now I'm pretentious enough to think that life is always one big poem continually being written, and that the poet's gift is sometimes the ability to recognize that and record it. 

Fellow Passenger
 
Handsome’s heavy
wedding band
had slid down
to his knuckle bone
(a marriage can reduce)
His wife, buck-toothed
and pony-tailed
wore her headphones
looked around.
He watched her, tight-lipped
spun his loose ring
with his thumb
then with a silent glance
they dragged their luggage
off my train.