When the Locomotives Go Extinct

by | Dec 4, 2012 | Poetry

 

 

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

About The Author

Peter Bethanis

Peter Bethanis’s poems, essays, and stories have appeared in Poetry, Tar River Poetry, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, River Review, Country Journal, and the Indianapolis Star among others.  In 1995 he was selected by James Dickey as winner of the Eve of St. Agnes Poetry Prize.  His poems “American Future” and “Li Hua’s Messenger” have been selected as featured poems on Poetry Magazine’s website.  He has been a finalist in the New Issues Poetry Prize and the National Poetry Series.  His poems have been anthologized in several collections including The Hecht Poetry Anthology and the Mellon Poetry Anthology.  He is the author of two books, Dada and Surrealism for Beginners from Random House and American Future, a collection of poems, from Entasis Press.  He has taught at several universities and is currently a professor in the writing program at Ball State where he has taught for fifteen years.