Hallucinations, Seeking Trains
by John Michael Flynn
1.
I’m told a century since passenger rail blew through here.
I walk a trestle bridge, rivet heads dulled, girders
still aqua-green in places but paint mostly peeling.
I can see to the north a shotgun shack and I swear it’s sinking
into the river below. In these parts they can’t give homes away.
Sign nailed to a tree reads Worms & Crabs 4 Sale.
So how many Powhatan natives bled to death in these currents?
How many guns are enough to kill off hallucinations?
2.
At the Victory Gospel Lighthouse Church
I sit on a wooden station bench once a church pew.
This is what they mean, I suppose, by recycling.
Hablamos Español on the sign out front.
I’m in Medina now on a Sunday, having left Yates
and when I leave for another town
I know I’ll try to memorize all the ones I’ve seen
and still wonder how they got their names.
These simple queries are one lasting joy of travel.
3.
Of many perches for itinerants on this planet
one favorite is an overcooked chair in a hotel lobby
with a faux fireplace and nicotine-yellowed wallpaper.
I’m baking here now in front of red train depots,
each roof shaped like a pagoda. Hundreds
of these tiny depots and I reckon someone died
here in this chair just a little waiting for trains.
The lobby door opens and I hear rap music drive by.
Streets, manhole covers, windows. Find me a home.
Gyroscope Review 14
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