poetry
by K.B. Whitley
Dark as Dead
Coal Train
Come a long Coal
Train a blowing
thru town mph
so fast you can’t
count the cars
No caboose Just
poof the SOB go
Taking the load
to be burn back
East 4 engines
103 cars return
empty and we
wonder why
the climate is
a warming but
the Coal Train
keeps a coming
Nobody seem to
care much at all.
Then there was
the night Dark
as dead I lay in
the bed with
my busy brain
Listen to trains
blow Thunder
rattle No rain
Heat lightning
streak across
the sky from
here to there
Open my eyes
Couldn’t sleep
If my life was
on the line On
this high dry
dusty hill the
Far Edge of
West Texas
Near to Mexico.
Making Hole
Walking to town
looking down
Like I always do
Stopped at an
ant bed in an
Asphalt street
Bunch of ants a
running to &
fro making hole
As they say for
The Man make a
hole coming thru
Or as they say
in the oil patch
Making hole
Stepped around
the ants left them
alone making hole
Cenizo
First Quarter 2014
15