The harried housewife stops for the
train—
the
gate swing and bell ring—
a
silver snake speeding into burbs.
She
crosses the hump of rails
to
find a home, to cook a meal,
a
yellow firefly blinking into sleep.
The
comet speeds through dark matter cold—
a
tail of dust, a hint of home—
iron-nickel
ice crossing the belt
to
warm itself, to speak with Brother Saul.
The
whip-swing sling shot
sends
it to the burbs where sleeping dogs lie.
~William Hammett
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