Aunt Margaretís Flat
The floor atilt like a carnie funhouse,
rolled and shook as the six forty-five
out of Grand Central thundered by
on the creaky Third Ave. El(evated).
So close you could touch it with a broom
but for the sparks and the speed and terrible
clank, steel on steel it screeched;
set the yellowed window shades to flying.
Gone now the decrepit stepping stones to progress,
gone to bullet trains to fancy condos;
Margaret gone to old age then to we all know what;
the child gone to yesterdayís inflated dreams.
To what will we be gone?
Kathryn M. Collins
May 5, 2007