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.
Jack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana.