The train rolling through town
sends in its signal
with the intermittent whistle which warns
of something more than arrival, delivery or destination,
crimson, or even hot steal.
It smelt of cinnamon and sueded leather,
Bark and skin, the warm coat.
Two young men,
friends since childhood,
Skype and catch-up on nothing new.
They live close to each other,
only one hears the train first.
The little girl that left the boy
in the woods to get lost herself
was kind enough
to think of bread for later so she could come back
to him, but he was hungry and took care
of himself.
She cries about choices to another boy.
She was the wolf that howls at the passing train, sirens song,
a puppy in a dogs coat.
Tracks made for trains are best for drawing lines,
demonstrating the forging of space
between then and now,
here and there
one nose
smells first
and hides in his skin.
The other clearly hears
the passing scream left behind
on warm steal lines
without a second glance
he knew there will be another
soon enough to catch up.
He takes off his coat.
No longer in a hurry
he thinks in all directions,
and decides to walk
without destination.
Photo credit by Carol M. Highsmith [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
