Trading Trains for Planes

In a town not so far away,

I remember a night in fall,

away in a fair, my bladder

about to burst, in random

moments for cull and come,

I shatter that time with the

hammer of the lords, a tame

memory by far and a day,

but now it’s like a dream I

had when I was ten, and a

car ran me over and I laughed

at death, and the crashing

sound from the yard wasn’t

a window broken from a

passing bum, and it wasn’t

the memory of a girl drunk,

fighting and writhing in the

grass, and it wasn’t my baby

creams; reruns and a prosperous

valley, comely and shad, perch

and walleye, the taste of Ohio

beer and a face that I love

in hail and harvest, a horse

haws and falls, our domicile

heated with fire, new and

just the smell of us, a brick

through the window of nostalgia,

the milk and honey of life

so true, let’s waltz into the

purple skylight and drink

wine until we throw up; but

when the night sweats and we

look for familiar hands, the

silence will take new shape;

when once a horn erupted and

shook us angry, now the

heat of aviation fuel, contrailing

across the sky does us justice;

we traded trains for planes

and the wine tastes the same:

the morning’s cold lit ablaze

under the thumb of grace.

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~ by Shawn M. Young on November 10, 2016.

One Response to “Trading Trains for Planes”

  1. Reblogged this on O LADO ESCURO DA LUA.

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