As each car rattled, one by one, my day dream done and patience tried, graffiti-filled, the rusted gates continued with no end in sight. My boredom forced, illusion spun the train cars in a merry ride around my head, its packing crates were blurred by passing cracks of light. The clacking, like a gatling gun, drowned out the crossing bell beside the intersection’s warning grates and ”R R” sign of black and white. A calm returned, my waiting done, the last few cars remained in stride, now free to roll past interstates and others watching, left to right. 
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AuthorJack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana. Archives
March 2019
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