a melancholy afternoon
Michael Estabrook
Normally when I
walk along the tracks
and see or hear a train coming
I rush off into the
woods to watch the monster unseen,
feel its vibrations rumbling,
smell its oily metal
and smoky wake,
while remaining quiet and still
as a bush or a tree or a rock.
But today I don't feel much
like playing this childish game.
I'm feeling strangely older
and weary-worn of life.
I even neglected
to put the pennies on the tracks
like I always do.
