My Very Newest Poem

Dreaming of Trains

Every day I drive by the mill tracks,

And boxcars of paper rolls in stacks.

As it shuffles tankers of sludge and slurry,

I hear the old train wheels’ clickety clacks.

I watched diesel trains move along,

blunt featured, efficient and strong.

I wonder at all the romance sadly lost

Along tracks where old smokers belong.

I guess the environment paid the cost

of belching, dirty coal smoke exhaust,

but sparks flying and blackened plumes

make my railroad picture pretty, glossed.

I see switchyard engines blow oily fumes,

but wish I was relaxing in Pullman rooms.

I never outgrew railroad dreams I assume

as my boyhood hobo fantasy resumes.