Play on the Embankment , on the Long Island Railroad Tracks
alan catlin
Summer days, small children roll down
the dried grass hills near where the
commuter trains rush the nine to five
workers into the City, every trip the
passenger cars are the noisy, metal monsters
that send them squealing, send them rolling
toward the edges of the highway. Later,
riding their bicycles, they sip King Kole
Kustard's Original Italian Ices, watching
the trains between stations gathering speed;
the Rockville Centre line never stops in Lynbrook
after dark where the older children play chicken
on the tracks, stepping from the B track
to the A, crossed up by the noise and the
confusion of bright lights in the dark,
the one not rolling down the hill, laughing
with the others, gets to catch the running
late, incoming train, head on.