Southbound Train, a poem

The following is a draft of a poem I started while riding the Amtrac home from Chicago last week.  It is a poem that really should be read aloud, and if I did it right, the piece should gain momentum, pick up speed as you go.  And for those with tender ears, the language is PG 13.   One last thing, please note that I placed this post in a new category, “Practicing what we Preach.”  I hope for this to be a space for us to share our writing and/or responses to what we’re reading.

Southbound Train

What river is that, south of Joliet?

The Illinois, I suppose or

a tributary, a vascular brother or sister

sluicing Chicago’s shit south.

My shit, could be

but not yet, not

that fast

My shit won’t sicken

they’re already stricken

with other ailments,

the wounds of living – they’re

bad enough.

My shit don’t stink

to me

or not to me.

I’ve

run out of questions

and that’s the worst place to be

Simply floating along afraid of what’s next

clutched close to the vest

some other clichés born of some truth

grown from some root now rotten, forgotten

so that all that remains

are empty refrains

mouthed breathlessly

by those on this train.

We stare out windows, leaning on elbows

memorizing the names

of each town with a stop

a tavern, a church

barstool or pew

Hardly a difference. We are already naked.

There is nothing to lose