NORTH AMERICAN TIMELINE
There's nothing but the breakdown here for
me; the wonderland is over. Every crevasse
and soothing valley has been filled. Cars line
the waterway and the waterway sinks the cars.
I tremble to obfuscate the reality of what I see.
I was born here, not a traveler, not just passing
through. What else can I say? It doesn't hold.
I remember the rail cars passing my house, the
steam locomotives hissing and putting out all
that smoke - the ladies in town complaining
always how it ruined their laundry. My mother,
going on about the tiny burn-holes from hot
embers. Myrtle and Jim, across the street, in
a fury about the marred finish of their cars.
We kids, we just chased the smoke; that big
billowing cloud of embers as the train passed.
Each time, the chug-chug of neighborhood
noise and that cloud of evening smoke,
twirling and stretching a it passed these