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by Mimi Ferebee
a metal log it is,
rushing, gliding, skating through time,
she is a generation of memories—
yet keeps such wonders to herself,
not even whispering to passengers
about the black-strapped boy on the tracks, his heart
pounding, telling him to hop
to the side, but adrenaline robs his senses,
shakes him like a friend, greedy, & yelling ready-or-not
here she comes
& she does, flying by barely missing him
at the last minute, & what of his playmates,
those cute, strawberry, mississippi girls,
the ones with pearled magnolias braided into their hair?
that southern drawl sweeping under
their feet, swoops over platted scalps like
double-dutch phone cords
& they all pause, laughing, when he catches
his balance on the other side of the tracks
it was close this time, sure, but not close enough
for their undivided attention
& the train?
she just whistles her chain-gang song,
watching it all, being steered straight, guided gently to the right, left,
that aged growl is the hum of her rigidity scoot,
an over-ground railroad song that she keeps,
undoubtedly to herself
The poem wanders off. At the end it seems less interested in his fruitless survival than the possibility of a scorching memory to share. I heard there’s a dead dog behind the co-op with a stick stuck in it’s eye.
I like this poem very much. The multiple ampersands distracted me and I am not sure of their function in this work. Ignoring them made the reading better (to me). Flies at a BBQ, I guess.
this is an excellent poem. i thought the “wandering” in the end actually helped to solidify the image of the train moving on from the scene. i believe this was intentional. in fact, that is the point she makes that the train comes and goes, seeing everything, but can never stop fully to appreciate the moment or share the experience with others. personally, im indifferent about ampersands, but it’s becoming a trend in the literary world. i dont think it takes from the poem, it’s just one of those things…