JUST LIKE IN THE
RAILROAD DARKNESS
(for me)
Just like in the railroad darkness of a hundred cold mornings,
I am still reading the chill in the air, what it presents to me
and where. Stuck on squander-point earth, I guess, again.
That siding over there, the one with nothing on it, sits vacant and
stares : last Summer's weed's still dangle, now brown and
broken stiff where nothing grows. They've not even attacked
a light to the lamppost nearby - where once the railroad
clerk marked boxcars, where once the engineers counted
barrels and crates and weights for loading. The chemical
company is still there; now but a sorry ghost of its old
once-self, but still working nonetheless. I see those guys on
the siding - waiting for their jobs to begin. I imagine they
buy sneakers, clothes and food with their money -
to support their families, kids and all. Such the great value
of still being employed. This vicious half-light now rising;
it brings forth another day - the kind with glee and
penny-whistles, happiness and wonder.
Children in school, lunches in bags,
I am still reading the chill in the air, what it presents to me
and where. Stuck on squander-point earth, I guess, again.
That siding over there, the one with nothing on it, sits vacant and
stares : last Summer's weed's still dangle, now brown and
broken stiff where nothing grows. They've not even attacked
a light to the lamppost nearby - where once the railroad
clerk marked boxcars, where once the engineers counted
barrels and crates and weights for loading. The chemical
company is still there; now but a sorry ghost of its old
once-self, but still working nonetheless. I see those guys on
the siding - waiting for their jobs to begin. I imagine they
buy sneakers, clothes and food with their money -
to support their families, kids and all. Such the great value
of still being employed. This vicious half-light now rising;
it brings forth another day - the kind with glee and
penny-whistles, happiness and wonder.
Children in school, lunches in bags,
whittlers whittling down at the old town square.
So many wonderful lives, all wrapped up in one.
Stuck on squander-point earth, I guess, again.
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