Leaving the Station
We slowly roll from the platform, green metal tankers absorb
the golden sun.
Where does the red in the light come from?
Why does the end of the day bring
clarity?
The buttery light loves the
iron couplings
the grey stained concrete, and
slicks against the surface close as morning
toast.
The broken windows of the Good Samaritan Center
flash orange beside
whitewashed brick and idle
dump trucks.
Old warehouses weep paint.
Corrugated tin runs with rust.
I think the sun is in its playground.
Sage waves on rooftops, coal humps in the shadows, diagonal steps descend fat silos
Underneath it all clank! clank! clank! the train wheels.
Then silence as we enter the trees,
the slanting light caught in the leaves,
held
cupped
as it decides whether to leave or stay
in transition.
Joseph M Hawes (jhawes)
Very compelling imagery. This is great! ________________________________
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Imagery = easy. Plot = hard. As you know . . .