Train Window

Lying on my back
looking out the train window
I could only see the top of things,
the top of things.

5pm cloudy March dusk of an evening
an amorphous gray background
for dark brown fingers
at leafless tree tops,
spindly and reaching
to the monochrome damp drizzle.

Slowly turning roof ventilators,
vanes dreamy flailing
captive circles in the wind.

Wires, fat wires, thin wires
seem to move up and down
between tilted Canadian pine forest poles
dragged here years ago,
screamingly cut,
birds flapping for their lives,
squirrels scampering for safer ground,
mute totems
to the need to be here and there
and here again.

It is too dark now,
only loading dock light
back end to the train tracks
are visible through chain link
and barbed wire fences,
no, no one will be making
deliveries here tonight.

Parking lots lit with pinkish glow,
no parked car makes a move
and be discovered escaping
into broad spotlight.

Rolling, rocking
ambling train
into New York.

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One Response to Train Window

  1. Pingback: Don Segal-20 years of Published Poetry, a Retrospective; into the 21st Century! | Poetry by Don Segal

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