Freight Train
Aroused from a vagrant slumber,
I wash our morning's
vanquished sex
from beside a cloudless pool
I hear the clackity-clacking
western-bound freight train
and Helen's laughing
shadow dancing along
the boot-black
railroad tracks.
I feel the rich Neches River clay
beneath my feet and
fill my lungs with the
unwashed scents of post cards
mailed from faraway places.
Arms pumping
in the heated
East Texas breeze,
I glance back
remember the chores
and books left unread.
My legs are old, I say.
She laughs, encouraging
my steps with a glance
of her swollen breast.
I race to grab hold
her dew-worn smile
and cheat the boxcar's
silent wheels.
Bill Brocato