All the wisdom culled from passing freight
Cars was a pastiche of countries
Dreamed of as they slid away.
Portable gang graffiti and hobo mumblings
From distant villages in the hinterlands.
Does Jill really blow and is Ned a freak?
Half a journey’s stories subtracted,
Placate the mind’s conjuring additions.
I’m walking the tracks over you,
Can’t sleep its true. Waiting
To get my due as the locomotive
Comes on through.

Part of the problem is the lack
Of faith in rhyme and reason. Look
What it has brought us in this
Smog-ridden century, convolutions lusting
After the rightly unattainable.
Passing the container ships and
Their now undesired conundrums
Makes us a little less anxious
After all is said and unfinished.
The porters packing it in,
A last look to the sinking light
On the water. We nibble a dry sandwich,
Wait for cost analysis, etc.
You are more gargle than gargoyle
When you quietly go on.