by Violet Scott

Created on: November 05, 2008

The midnight train goes by again

so remarkably loud

at least, it would be,

if it wasn't too loud to remark on.

and here, I thought the trucks were bad enough

but the train rattles windows as I watch it roar past

blaring it's whistle and it is spitting

autumn leaves out from underneath itself.

All the train cars say things like

"ROTTEN, JADED, and FREAK"

in clever color combinations

within the laws of the color spectrum, of course.

Because they are artists, of course.

They are just misunderstood. Oh.

Of course.

Still, misunderstandings and sprayed art aside,

all of their work disappears into the night,

just like everything else

except our breath

and the moon, tacked precariously amongst stars

that you have to assume are there

because they,

they disappear into the light.

Then it comes,

rain, so much more refined

when it's reflecting the city lights.

can you watch with me, watch the way

gravel bends like glitter

in the fluorescent glow

of the theatre marquee?

With scarves, bound about us,

and hats pulled low over brows,

we wonder, how does light

always seem to dance so much more

nimbly in the cold?

A snaking suspicion comes over me

that it's just not right to be alone

on a night

when our country will change so drastically,

but I cannot duplicate myself

to discuss political oppositions

on the uneducated acquisition

of a Big Brother nation,

or any mundane topic, for that matter,

So I imagine we are walking

and it's no special day, nothing is going on

and it's going to stay that way

and the train goes flying by, deafing

to our dumb, but it's ok

I'm with you

hats pulled over brows,

scarves wrapped all around

captivated by the rain

delighted to be numb.

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