A drunk man stumbles onto a bus and boasts to the driver that he "drank her under the table." The speaker, a fellow passenger, overhears and can't let the phrase go. What does it mean to "drink" another person, to consume her? And why is the table the place where his "Passions" play out? The capital P hints at something larger than a night at the bar, since "Passions" can also recall the suffering of Christ.
That hint pays off in the last stanza. The man stands with arms outstretched, gripping the stanchions, in a cruciform pose. The speaker admits to not knowing him or the woman, yet doesn't want to give up on either. The mood is wry but tender. The speaker offers the sensible explanation, that he holds on so he won't fall, then flips it with a sharp question: what if he's holding on so he won't rise? The poem leaves us wondering whether this is just a drunk, or someone stuck in his own private suffering.