salamander yellow pad
Friday, March 9, 2012
He had walked the tracks too easily swayed by their constant star totaly surprised how quiet the train appeared soft bells languid clangs hardly time to move behind him. lazy metalics roll rumble roll steady inevitable quiet follows and brwon scented autumn bright sunlight returns knowing small song birds better than anything. Alone polish steel so like smoke heat the days aura-ed fingers hands en-wraped each movement of himself and every inch of the world around him. Eventually insect sounds all that accompanys him. Eventually unable to cross the trestle, intimidated by the too far below river, cut back to the highway crossed over at the park, coffee at the diner used to be a bar when the factories ran three shifts and this was a neighbourhood. It was his fathers first job, helping tend bar here, almost married the owners daughter, instead at seventeen got his mother to sign for him, a marine. Ship out to basic same train tracks crossed this same river, crossed country San Francisco tolerated the navy all the way to Eniwetok. Coffee to the train, coffee to the way things turn even on a straight track, to the trains of his father, those that brought him away from brass city New England and eventually back home in time to met the woman he would really marry.