Train Song

I lurk in a wooded bend of the railroad where I won’t be spotted. Duffle bag — check. Zippo lighter — check. Deck of marked cards — check. All my life I’ve been listening to trains & all my life I’ve been letting them go by, each whistle Dopplering down from summons to wail, followed by a thunder as intoxicating as any heavy metal band, graffitoed messages flying past too fast to parse & a poorly aligned wheel shrieking like feedback from a speaker all the way to Chicago. It’s not that I want to travel, but this sky’s too narrow, too full of murk. It hurts to breathe. I raise a pants leg & here’s another goddamned tick just starting to burrow in. Out West, I’ve heard, there are places so empty nobody’s even given them a name yet. That’s why the next slow freight & I have a date. Here comes one now. Hear how the rails are starting to sing?