Clickety-clack


Steam and Smoke.

Silver streaks from east.
Phantoms from west.
Afar they came,
their anxious voices
pushed loud.

Once eyes bright,
cheeks pressed against polished glass,
saw the platform ahead,
where waving hands
and smiles amassed,
welcomed home
the one and all
for all and one.

Clickety-clack.

Rails once honed for speed
sought the touch of wheels,
where deft swirling wrists
did windows clean.
For mirrored moon swept romantics by night,
and reflected sun driven ambitions by day,
where now forgotten hole punchers in uniform;
labor’s slumped shoulders of yesterday,
find but the rocking chair of memories.

Reflect.
Reflect.

With closed eyes,
peering back,
as windows darken
embraced by tunnels,
once brightened the heart in their darkness.

But today…

Progress announces
there’s the future’s light ahead
with bullets of tomorrow.

Beneath eyelids at rest,
light opens beyond
where these trestle rails of yore,
the pinpoint once a man’s universe,
now embraces but voided space.
A barren station here.
A people past there.

For now…

Magic metal-wedges levitate
airborne transport
with speeds of flight,
expectations in tow,
suits embraced by personal tech,
ipads and wireless earbuds,
coffee in hand,
ignore the tunnels of dark and light forgotten,
leaving vanishing blurs behind.

No clickety-clack.

Bodies silently exit in mass,
nurturing all minds as one,
converging the progress melt
already thirsty for the return
of Chivas Regal at six.


The circle of muted exits.
One’s lamented future.
Another’s serpentine feast.

No clatter.
No rumble.
No screech.


Eyelids open.
Another memorable smile through the tears.
Maybe more reflections tomorrow.
Another rocking-chair journey
when simple travelers rode atop steam and smoke.