TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS
The train whistle that blows this early in the morning,
yes, I know that's not the one for me. I let it pass -
brought to its own (once-steaming) fruition by the
passage of wind and air. Blow past so fast, steed.
Long, long ago, on some open-prairie had I stood
there, the great, billowing cloud of smoke instead
would have had my notice - seeding like a long
cloud of fire over the trepidated ground. Now not.
Now instead the hum of electric and wire, passing
catenary connection to make things swiftly go. Even
the whistle I hear now is an electric blast of air.