poetpotter

Some years ago when my great niece was about 10 or 11, my husband and I took her along on our trip to Tottenham to ride on the steam train. I wrote this poem much later, thinking back on that day. Now that she's in her 20s, she likely appreciates this poem a little more. Riding the rails - for Arikka We ride the rails in modern train’s ancient cousin the engine billows black smoke dusting our laps with soot the conductor tells tales of a phantom train as the countryside rolls by you sit with arms crossed      why don’t we go faster? Someday you’ll want to get off the fast train Carolyn Wilker Published in Good Times Magazine September 2015