Scuttling Trains

A station agent with a watch to time
The come and go -- to chart the here and now. 
Not the wheels that turn from powered steam
Not the rails that guide the loads to home
Not the bucket that shovels coal
Not anything that moves at all.

A man caged on an iron stage,
Standing upright and wanting,
As loose and free as the bindings allow,
And coloring the blanks of small boxes in black
On to preprinted forms that don’t self correct --
Perfect to practice, again and again.

I know why she left me on this platform adrift,
Though I was ready to stay till the end of us both.
She dropped spikes in the cannon as the enemy approached,
And said, “It’s you,” and then fled from the battle.

The roar of engines dulls with repetition
And the echoes they make are just more of the same
And as they come in for the stopping and going
It’s me to remember the timing of trains.

Mike Brady 2010