Twin rails
crept across
the continent,
in the wake
of the Civil War,
replacing an endless train of schooners
that rutted
the prairies
and left crosses
in mountain passes.
Iron horses
that charged
along the fresh
steel tracks
blew black smoke
and insistent steam
that trailed
behind them across
a shadowed prairie.
Iron horses
are now stabled
in remote
roundhouses
where they pull
tourists through
fields sweet
with summer flowers.
Few remember
the way
their masters
once murdered
an entire age.
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