I was three years old
The end of the age of trains
Even though nobody knew
I wore an engineers cap
Striped overalls
Was the darling of the porters
Who knew the mysteries of transformation
Changing open windowed couch vistas
Into halled havens
Later
Along trackside curves
We belly watched as our coppers were flattened
Spat out from heaving rounders
The best were the ones you could still read
Barely, slightly curved
Then came the panorama car
Drifting at speed through mountain passes
Or through interminable prairies
Grain elevators
So many
Who knew?
Throughout it all
Whistle
Plaintive and unavoidable
Annunciation and warning
Get the hell out of dodge cause we ain’t slowing down
Kind of whistle
Imagining the cowcatcher
Which is long since gone
Fulfilling its function
Smells of train
Unique
Shuttered steam diesel
Unwashed flesh
Rich odiferous narrowness
While the images flash by
Of a country ignoring itself
David Trudel © 2013
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Trains
I was three years old
The end of the age of trains
Even though nobody knew
I wore an engineers cap
Striped overalls
Was the darling of the porters
Who knew the mysteries of transformation
Changing open windowed couch vistas
Into halled havens
Later
Along trackside curves
We belly watched as our coppers were flattened
Spat out from heaving rounders
The best were the ones you could still read
Barely, slightly curved
Then came the panorama car
Drifting at speed through mountain passes
Or through interminable prairies
Grain elevators
So many
Who knew?
Throughout it all
Whistle
Plaintive and unavoidable
Annunciation and warning
Get the hell out of dodge cause we ain’t slowing down
Kind of whistle
Imagining the cowcatcher
Which is long since gone
Fulfilling its function
Smells of train
Unique
Shuttered steam diesel
Unwashed flesh
Rich odiferous narrowness
While the images flash by
Of a country ignoring itself
David Trudel © 2013
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Filed under Poetry
Tagged as blank verse, creativity, free verse, metaphor, nostalgia, poetry, social commentary, train travel, trains