Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Month of Poetry, Day 19

The View from the Train

Where is the poetry
in mountains of scrap?

Generations of junk
thrown down the bank
behind rows of crumbling houses,

A line of white laundry
strung out to a dying tree?

Cities turn their backsides
to the tracks,

Burnt-out factories and
warehouses, a gas pipeline
terminal, with its flare torch,
like a beacon of hope.

Yet there is grace and
beauty, if you look
arched Art Deco-style
over the tracks, an
ancient, abandoned
depot like a tiny
pagoda, and trees

Trees grow up
through mountains
of garbage and
hopelessness, as
if to say, here
amid death,
there is life.

1 comment:

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...