When the moons of their foreheads
Go dark, when their chugging wheels
Hiss to a stop, when the last engineer
Throws his hat down in disgust,
When the final destinations are abandoned
Like chessboards with missing pieces,
The mind recalls, as if awakening out of a dream,
The boastful puffs of black smoke,
The proud throaty whistle splitting the horizon.
When the locomotives go extinct,
One might recollect a lover’s face
Passing behind glass in another age,
Or a leisurely ride on a hot air balloon.
I recall the great whales,
The shy silverbacks.
When the locomotives go extinct,
The warmth of sun on the tracks
On the last day will turn frozen and cold,
Like old bones, like a language forgotten.
A few locals gather at the station.
A kick at the dirt.
Photo by Tim Drivas
