TRAIN STATION

TRAIN STATION
Ryan Swofford

The drunken orange glow of
the sea-sky at dawn
and the whistling of the wind
in my stomach, waiting
for the train to blow thru

At the train station
I sit on the rainy ground
with sweat and salt
on my hands
from nervous-belly laughing
for the train to blow
its whistle

For the train
to come home
for me

Rainy
Oregon mountains where
I sit in the dark, playing the
blues and where you and I
first touched
plush lips
and smelled rose petals
that fell in the night

Waiting now, in the drunken dusk
for black steel rail
to scream
I’m coming home

Waiting for the train
to come home
for me

©2012 This work is the property of the author.