Tags
childhood, poem, poetry, poetrycommunity, toys, toytrain, train, welovekids
A train runs in the backyard but the
wooden fences are still leaning from
the previous generation so the train
kept going on its own tracks
five executive reps stuck their ears to the
ground to locate the incoming sound but
the train sometimes runs above so excuse
New York City if it seems to have lost its way
maybe a train runs through walls so
since the great discovery, the bells have
been a mystery and the rolling rocks have
discovered the purpose within their spirit
but the people collecting tickets are well
accustomed so they will never check the
carpet in their living room even though
in a rush they’ve broken the plastic tracks
built on the dead heat of playtime because
that’s where all of reality makes total sense
the conductor on bruised knees. Who’s also
the engineer, the passenger, the fuel, and the
only one who knows the way.
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Sircharlesthepoet 