RAILROAD ROOMS

D.R. Wagner - La Noche de las que Brillan

17 1/8" x 14"

Ward

This poem was published earlier tis year (in April) by Medusa's Kitchen.  I wanted to post it here because I like the way it moves.

RAILROAD ROOMS

A mouth that worked like flames.

She had a Transylvanian horse

With soft silver trappings and a blue

Flamingo that spit pure gold.  She 

Would sit in the alley and wait for

The forest to catch up to her

At least, that’s what she preferred.

And her mother had told me not 

To draw attention to those beautiful

Fires that could be seen on the hills.

Memories could be had one hell of a lot

Cheaper and you could pay for them

With your childhood and pills.

There was a broken down railroad

That once ran to Texas or someplace

That looked like Texas in New York.

And a man with a fracture that he called 

A smile who ran freight on both sides

Right through the middle of the park.

At three AM on Saturdays we would go to

The theater.  They gave away roles to those hungry

For fame.  And the aisles were always crowded

And the lights were always flickering and there wasn’t

One person who would admit it was a game.

We live far from the heartland, we live close to the bone.

The children who come visit, they come always alone.

They tell us we are crazy to live lives in these places

They tell us it it will cripple us and we will live in fear.

But the sun here, it does something that looks like a morning

And there’s coffee if you don’t mind waiting in line.

They make fires out of old doors and they keep them burning.

They have never once, never once, asked us our names.