Tuesday, February 24, 2009


piston shakes its rigid walls
pushes angry, seething hot
upon the apex again it falls
with the inches more it brought

steam like fog seeking my shoes
foaming from the ghostly maw
of the iron monster, gray-blue
that makes its final call.

My hands are empty, gritty, hard
gnarled and laced with veins
but my packages are on the car
and my back complains, unstrained.

At the end of the porch over the stones
i watch the train pull and scream
pushing faster; grinding bones
and pulling from port with a dream

I sat on a bench, splintered and cold
and looked to the dawn with a sigh
i gave as much as i could hold
never empty: new train draws nigh.

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