The Red Light Is The Blue Light Is

 

At 16 I hopped a  freight

Me dressed as Johnny Yuma

Or maybe Donovan, the little cap

Ok maybe I looked like Dylan

But imagine it.  It’s dark in Missouri

Down in the railyard and you are

Alone and 16.  The freight car is

Yellow in the moonlight and like

A dream.  Secrets.  No one knows me.

I made it!  Where are you going?

Anywhere.

Wish I had done it.

So at 51 I am really on a train,

The Empire Builder!

Coming back from Portland,  The Dales,

Spokane,  slept through Glacier Park.

No time for ice ages.

Coming back from

Watching my Uncle Joe die.

Drawers and drawers

Of handkerchiefs:  a man of

A certain age.

“If you want to

Come,” he said.  A letter a few weeks

Before “Cancer.  Oh, well… it sure

Was fun smoking all those Chesterfields.

Oh, well.  I’m saving all the newspapers

To wrap the china.”

And the train stops.

As trains do in the dark.

No reason that you know.

Now look at the schedule:

Wolf Point MT.  Yes.

Look out.  Hourless Prairie.

The moon’s moon is in the sky!

Maybe someone’s Uncle has died.

Maybe the engineer needs a smoke.

Maybe ghosts loading buffalo skins.

Moving again and past the town.

All these towns built on the

Bones of sleepy children.

Stops again.  Same moon.  More ghosts.

Moving towards Minot:

Spooky for sure.

No place for Joe, of course

Then coming up to Williston.

Jorgensen's Roughrider Liquor!

Train stops for ten minutes.

Think I can make it?

No.

Next train 23 hours and

About 45 minutes from now.

15 dollars in my pocket.

Took the wrong credit card.

Standing on the platform

Suitcase on the train.

The red light is.

The blue light is.

Wish I could tell Joe.

Oh, well.