mother nature, with her office-walls of melting icebergs
and burnt amazonian boughs, will not negotiate on this:
eventually the eleventh hour will peek over the horizon
and streak the apocalypse across the sky. your ceo’s
checks cannot slow the cavalcade...
I see the train pass by
and reminisce my childhood dreams...
I lift my feet, pull them close off the ground,
tumble backward into memory.
A frothy neighborhood pool:
playing, swimming with my friends, siblings,
and then I hear the rumble of the train