Trains

 

The trains divide my day into pieces
Like an uneven pie.
As I watch them from my window,
I wonder from where they come.
Maybe New Orleans with it's imports,
Kansas City with it's beef,
Maybe Detroit with it's steel and plastic monsters.
Where do they go after they pass my curious gaze?
Santa Fe with it's Indians, Phoenix with it's tourists.
Or Los Angeles with it's celluloid dreams.

I've tried to time these noisy dragons
But as yet I've not succeeded.
They just pass back and forth,
East and west, day after day.
Why is it trains have given us
An impression of freedom?
The tracks they must follow
Were laid down across a free land,
Interrupting and ceasing the life
Of the free men who rightfully owned it.

The trains must follow these well-worn paths
On a tight, unyielding schedule.
They cannot stop and admire
The beautiful country they race through.
They cannot take a byway if they so desire.
The products loaded on their backs
Must be delivered intact and on time,
Or it will disrupt our ordinarily well-ordered days.

The trains are not free,
And neither are we who depend on them.
This once wild country was conquered
By the smoke-snorting ancestors
Of these long, mechanical snakes.
Men who rode west, greedy for gold,
Stayed to enjoy the bounty of this new Promised Land.
This same bounty is still being
Shipped east for others to enjoy.

I don't mind waiting for a train to cross my street,
Or interrupt my sleep with it's lonesome whistle.
Where would we be without these trains?
From the car I drive to the food I eat,
I must thank the trains.
For, somewhere along the way,
The trains were involved.
So pass again, you lonely train
On your journey east or west,
and let me wonder idly where you're bound,
And wish you on your way.

 

 

  April 1974