Riding the Rails



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

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