The Train Passed By My House When I Was Six
When I was a little girl,
I thought the train was sentient
because it cried mournfully
whenever it came near my house.
Wonk! Wonk! Wonk! Wonk!
It bellowed out its melancholy
greeting each afternoon at two
and we conversed in the language
of loneliness.
How I wanted to crawl into
one of those rusty orange
boxes, curl up with the cargo,
most likely cattle on their way
to Amarillo for slaughter.
Knees tucked beneath chin,
arms interlocked around ankles,
rocking rhythmically.
A fetus safely ensconced in an iron womb.
But the train never stopped for me.
Like life and opportunity, it passed us by.
Like my father it was a cold machine,
wholly incapable of feeling.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
