wheels speeding along the tracks
tearing through wheat fields
and dingy little towns
always a shadow behind
while everyone else moves forward
there’s an imagined nostalgia
years ago it was a bus depot
with wool coats and coin operated tvs
and a glorious smell of diesel
an ever-shrinking circle of family
after setting anger and hurt aside
leaving a gaping wound but peace
inside temperature-controlled bubbles
watching the world pass by
connecting with trees as the rest is a blur
Leave a Reply