a hollow whistle splits opaque atmosphere, skies sigh
heavily, waiting on mother’s lace to drape vapid land;
blow. blow. before that snow billows, metal boxes roll,
rusted rails a rumblin’, blowin’ like Ellington takin’
Strayhorn’s “A” train home. Roam, empty alleyways,
cutting through shanty riddled yards, housing busted
babies donning broken smiles wearing beat up guitars;
envisioning western starlight, skinny Guthrie wannabes
wishing Tennessee waltzes ‘em off frozen lines
into feathered comfort toasting a roaring fire;
boxcar willie hands with a youth’s grin a shinin’,
roll. roll. sunrise burning off last night’s whiskey bed,
slide doors wide open, bleary eyed; frosted countryside,
mountain’s crystalline divide passing, pullin’ em back;
winter’s shiver settles in and they wait for Cali light;
sleep wiping yellow eyes; rail weary but ready,
conductor’s whistle sounding final rights, blow. blow.
jumping tracks seeking angels, prayin’ some miracle
sings em right; no more busted ties, just a steady
ride where future rolls wide open; train. train.
roll ‘em home before heaven shines its light.
roll ‘em home before hell becomes the night.
train. train. your whistle will sing ‘em home.
It’s link up night over at dVerse pub. It is a fine place to linger over a pull of stout or a glass of cab while reading the stylings of so many talents. All are welcome to visit & link. ~ cheers
As an aside, dVerse had a prompt this weekend regarding trains. I missed it, so I thought I would do mine tonight. I grew up with the local rail running behind my house. There is nothing more beautiful than to see a train barrel through a snow-covered landscape at the pitch of night. There is also nothing more haunting than a train whistle when it splits the night.