Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

THE RAILROADER
by Richard Aston


I loved you locomotive;
pondered your pulsing power;
how steam bellowed from your protrusions into the azure sky;
how you ascended hills, plowed through snow;
how your whistle sounded across the wide plains, shrieked off mountain sides,
                  resonated in canyons;
how you crossed our country tenfold faster than anything previous,
how you lugged tons of cargo, hundreds of people, rumbling like an earthquake,
                  rousing all;
how you were a complication of pistons, gears, springs, levers, wheels twinkling
                  on rails,
steel against steel ringing, fire out-belching smoke, people watching in awe;
                  how you were an emblem of power, propulsion, progress; the ultimate
                  technological fix,
forging far frontiers, gushing gold-grabbers, steaming speedily somewhere.

Now in repose,
you are a museum piece;
pampered, painted, preserved,
creaking along aged tracks
to give your riders
riders now accustomed to supersonic speeds,
so far above all wild life,
they forget
to give your riders
a hint of where somewhere
ought to be.



Copyright © 2010 by Richard Aston.