The Train | 1 |
| |
I decide while | 2 |
Diner neon blinks back from puddles in the street, | 3 |
a street who also refuses to meet me halfway. | 4 |
My car slumped into the backstreet corner | 5 |
of a stumbling parking lot, I opt for freedom, | 6 |
wet shoes, stepping off the parking curb blues. | 7 |
The empty factories scream at me in a night | 8 |
whistle, jagged windowpanes like teeth, gobbling | 9 |
up the candy wrappers and leaving only rocks | 10 |
and rusty tin cans, while the rain plays the warehouse | 11 |
roof like a pawn shop marimba, | 12 |
down the street. | 13 |
| |
I decide | 14 |
thinking maybe a bottle green Cadillac would have | 15 |
done the trick for her, or maybe a bottle | 16 |
will do the trick for me ‘cuz she ain’t comin’ back. | 17 |
But instead I’m lost on the east side of a city | 18 |
That does nothing but sleep. The train whistle | 19 |
piercing the night splits the peaceful veneer in two. | 20 |
And then I’m running, coins spilling from my pockets, | 21 |
flapping soles of my shoes rising in a crescendo, | 22 |
ragged jacket strangely not wanting to go this way, | 23 |
trying to catch the next downtown train. | 24 |
| |
I | 25 |
reach the two rails of snaking steel, | 26 |
they’re ringing and my head’s ringing, | 27 |
and the rocks are tripping over my feet, wavering, | 28 |
some of them doubled over, and the light is brilliant. | 29 |
I am dumb walking forward like a newspaper headline | 30 |
read over coffee, but bathed in the light exposed like | 31 |
an emotion, like farmers’ tan or a supermarket | 32 |
expiration date that just won’t rub off, | 33 |
and the sound is howling, really, bearing down. | 34 |
| |
But the train is drunk that night, | 35 |
stumbling off the track and back, | 36 |
my jacket the only fool here, gaping smile | 37 |
down my arm, and I am smelling for the first time | 38 |
the crisp smell of fresh, ripped leather. | 39 |