Daniel took me to the depot and rattled me with his fathers rail road stories
hoped to envision the click clack of the Union Pacific
hoped to see the ghost switch men’s
lantern appear in a stranded box car or maybe an abused caboose
big empty boxes
betraying the dusty ground
with steel and peeling paint
in the afternoon
the depot would bustle
hammering in the attic
weary glances into the cellar
crumbling roof made from
red clay shingles
vines climbing the shady side
hired men napping under itat lunch
Once we raced these trains with our schwinns
lobbing rocks like bandits
envisioned our self’s as hobos
pretening to be on the run
as we played
Daniels father filled the empty halls with lumber and swears
stacking cinder blocks in the cellar
To protect the foundation of what he loved
And what he had left of the past
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