Why the Earth Loves Trains

And never will forget you

Small times tell a story. I don’t know what.

Perhaps you do.

Perhaps the Wabash Cannonball arrived at your station, smoking and belching its speed.

Perhaps 12,000 red tailed hawks had a convention in your tight green grass backyard,

And the frightened mice all fled to eternal slim safety.

Perhaps fresh bought hot T-bone steaks went all on strike, jumping off the crusty black grills, picnickers running away in terror,

While bright aluminum garlic salt shakers applauded and chipmunks laughed loudly enough to scare the neighbors.

Perhaps your lover called you in that deepest night, and you answered, sleep now forgotten, while stars looked down on you, humbled by your tears.

Perhaps my smartwatch also has stopped, realizing its Internet connection is definitely down, while time so slow dives headfirst into the Earth, chasing carrots and potatoes, earthworms, too,

Awash in the mystery of deep dark soil.

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© “John” Lesly Levin 2022