Dear God of Trains

Dear God of Trains

I hear your howling in the distance
weeping into the night
as you pull an endless freight
across America’s parallel steel veins.

There’s a man in the cab
pulls at the chord for the whistle.
Will it ever be enough, God of Trains?
The train reaches the end
only to turn around
and tug the tons of cargo
back in the opposite direction.

Dear God of Trains,
your whistle calls me in the morning.
It is the song I hear
as I stir my cup of burnt bean water.
It is the song I hear as I sit at my desk.
It is the song I hear when I pray to other gods.
It is the song I hear as I sleep.

Dear God of Trains
you run through my chest,
the driving wheels rumble along the bones of my ribcage.
The connecting rod of my left and right ventricle
rising and falling.
There’s a man at the whistle.
He doesn’t stop pulling.



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