The Crossing

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.
​

Published in "The Dilettante's Garden" and "Eloquence"
by Jack Huber- All rights reserved

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