Headed West

My gut knows when I am headed west.

The diamond lots of suburbia give way

to charming wooden footbridges over brooks,

birch stands, scattered evergreens and

fields, endlessly reaching for spring’s thaw.

The roads are inefficient here, meandering,

crossing in diagonals and looping around.

Tractors and hooves preceded them,

unforgivingly beating the land, carving it out;

the brook of progress.

We pass long trains, still hauling their goods,

your goods. Littered beside the tracks,

fallen comrades: steel and ties.

The train cars are all marked by manufacturers,

and graffiti from endless cities.

The engines breathe the fire of the ornamental

stallions, soldered to their noses.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: