Locomotive

Slipstreaming the banshees of its whistle,
the train thunders, breathless from the
gaping maw of the tunnel.

Gathering its tresses,
the pistons hammer its intent to the rails.
It hauls its attendant carriages
like a jilted bride steaming from the church.

Seen from the hawks perspective,
one might mistake it for a thing of
little consequence: toiling away, ant-like,
puffing out its annoyance in little whiffs of dust.

But the furze at the track-side seems scared.
Whipped for years by the wind of passage,
it shies at the mere thought of insurrection.

Under the tracks, a mouse will occasionally scurry,
shivering out its innocence in the cold fire of a glance.

Later it will hide in a pocket of stones,
heart pounding out the rhythm of the reaper.
It knows better than to live fearless
when the rails begin to hum.

Added @ 02:22 PM to Poetry category on July 22, 1999