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Scuttling


Scuttling

A station agent's watch will time
The coming and the gone,
And affix the here and now

Not the powered wheels that turn
Not the rails that guide the way
Not the pail that shovels coal
Not a thing that moves at all

I know why she left me here to drift,
Though ready till the end of it --
She spiked the cannon on approach
And said, “It’s you,” and fled the stage

The roar of engines dulls to taps
and marks the passing moments
Stop or go or stand aside
In memory at the house of trains

Michael S Brady 2010/2017

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