Train wreck

I am an iron horse.

I hear the roar of raging coal that keeps me fed,

    and thunderous clacks

        of coupled steel-shod

            hooves on screeching tracks

                that cut

                    through town.

My steamy snort and onerous chortle

    are stifled by night’s dark down.

My crystal eye sears the way ahead,

    where another, in lifeless slumber, a grim pale

        against my glinted black,

            blocks

                the vanishing trail.

But my brass reins are slack:

    my conductor’s bucket-saddled

        dozing nod

            clocks

                hurtled seconds

                    before the mangled

                        wreck.

The rails resume their callous course.

Will I, damage

    despite, manage

        a hobbled plod,

            the crash

                a zoetropic psychic brand?

Will I be caught

    in the endless crush

        of wrought

            trauma?

Will I regain a measured gait

    toward an end to mourning night

        behind the station’s stable gate

            where morning light

                sedately beckons?

12/12/2007