The last train sounded like all
the other trains that came before
it, shattering platters and cracking
the center of town like an egg.
Those other trains that came before,
their strands of sad sounds dragging
through the center of town. Like an egg,
we tapped the sides with a knife,
those strands of sad sounds dragging
from the break to sizzle in the griddle,
we tapped its sides with a knife.
Heard the clank and scrape of metals.
Our breakfast sizzling in the griddle,
we felt the earth rumble and hum,
heard the clank and scrape of metals,
piercing the netting of our screens.
We felt the earth rumble and hum
around our breakfast table, the whistle
piercing the netting of our screens
becoming imbedded in our memory.
Around the breakfast table, we heard
it, chattering over platters, the cracking
becoming imbedded in our memory
of the last train sounding its call.
