Daddy played chicken with the trains
thriving on the thrill of the game
he’d weave through the gates that were down
in rural areas or town
rounding the corner
Momma scared would scream, curse his name
Dad would laugh . . . her words in vain
sometimes Dad was a little boy
playing a game . . . squealing with joy
like a five year old
playing the game, the two of us
the train smashed the car behind . . . whoosh!
looking back at the track of gore
cops came . . . “get that child on the floor!”
ghastly came mourners
four teenagers died over there
arms and legs sprawled --blood everywhere
a man approached, head in his hands
“don’t YOU play chicken . . . understand!
LOOK! do as you’re told!”
I never play chicken with trains
avoid train tracks and airplanes
anything powerful can kill
if you show no respect, they will
. . . bring the coroner

Published 2001 in my book, 'A Little Hope'