This week, Mt. Gilead’s Andell McCoy takes us on a train ride, via poetry.
The train,
the whistle, hum
and roar of movement,
metal against metal,
steel boxes grinding against steel tracks meeting
at high speeds
holding, carrying
city/country folks,
industrial cargo,
chemicals, and animals,
one place to another,
across and through
the country and back
other worlds
the conductor, the passengers,
the caboose, the tickets
the uniforms and hats,
the on and off
of people
on their feet,
in their seats
watching something
saying nothing
reading,
snoring
reclining
dining
the automation,
the fuel, the fire,
the mystery
and desires
of the souls
young and old
tired and rested
hungry and full
pressed
and pressured
by the
velocity
between
the revving up
and squealing stops
the splatter of lives
mixed in
the small
sometimes crowded spaces
of the box
for some requisite
amount of time
and distance locked
with uncurtained windows
on the go
a magnificent
and wonderful
picture show
of the fast
flying by
images
of small towns
and cities too
lovely ride
for me and you
Not to mention
the significance
of it’s history,
The train.
I have now lived
in 3 places where my mornings and nights
have been delighted
by the convergence
of my imagination
and the sound of the train.