Wheel to rail

Wheel to Rail

PUBLISHED IN THE COPPERFIELD REVIEW: Volume 10 Number 4 AUTUMN 2011 Edition

 

Wheel to Rail

The day grinds to dusk,

metal to metal, wheel to rail.

We sit across from each other,

her and her green or blue or hazel eyes,

shimmering like the slanted view

of oil spots left in empty parking lots,

millions of years in the making

and mill-stoned to perfection.

Some double helix flipped a switch

and Chance, like water and sand,

gleams best under pressure;

her pupils stained with more

than the so-so hope of the world.

In a New York City subway,

in between all the potentials

and on the other side, we sit alone,

one hello away and unreachable,

caught unaware while

picking the shallow wet

for smooth rocks, our dreams

like perfectly chipped seashells

stretched across a shore

of rust and hard plastic.