poem written on a train geneve and lucerne

as frieght trains in the night go by 
so our lives like chains 
grow long 
and not so simple as we'd like 
them to 
the last car rememering not the first 
nor caboose brakeman, engineer

but as the names of passing makes of 
dogfood, cars and napalm bombs 
pass like camera shutter clicks 
before our child eyes 
so we live and then forget 
the moments fleeing by

we stand at dawn 
like children for the whistle listening 
left then breathless by the mass of rolling boxcars 
we soon loose count 
and left there stunned 
we watch the last one passing


© Arenson Paul 2016