Posted: October 13, 2010 in My Poetry
Tags: , , ,

NIght Train

does the whistle
of a train
sound so lonely
late at night?

Around 3 AM,
it rounds the curve,
less than a mile
from my house.
Rattling cars pass by,
whistling mournfully;
Each a graffiti
work of art:
a traveling exhibit.

Thunder rolls in
as train clatter
fades out;
and a downpour

Wet rail,
cars blur
through the night;
colors smeared
by rain
and infrequent flashes
of lightening.

The engine’s
pierce the torrent,
as the probing beam
of a rifle scope.
Both intent
on rocketing through
to their final destination.


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