Rails

click clack
click clack

river rising out my window
quick passes phones don’t ring and closed cafes
faster rumbles on trembling tracks
past rusty cranes and broken scaffolds
fucking thunder roaring in my head,

"Who will you be, why do you run, where will you go?"

click clack
click clack

happy porter staggers car to car
his stubby smoke-stained finger
prods and pokes me free of weary thoughts,
"Pleasant evening, your ticket, sir?"

"I haven’t one,
I’ll be off right here."

              ~ ~ ~

Faithful

Smoke cloud mixers, Bud and whisky

guitar men coaxing dirt road tunes

while cocktail bribes and leering eyes

and two-step guys test her favor.

But it ain’t here I’ll be steppin’ cause

what’s in these pants don’t give a damn

so I’ll be heading home to do my dancing

to those bluesy moonlight rhythms of you.

              ~ ~ ~