Riding the Rails

Pufferbelly Father
in roundhouse recliner
watches Little Engineer
chug down hallway track into bedroom,
shoveling coalblack 78
onto her first PlaySchool phonograph.
Soon a childhood story clickety-clacks,
sounds streaming back
like smoke from a stack,
(I think I can…I think I can
hear that familiar whistle
cowcatching my emotions)
which pulls my freighted memory
over forgotten range of decades,
(I thought I could…I thought I could
recognize a little boy,
on caboose,
listening to endless switching of tracks)
which returns me to roundhouse,
freight cars now unloaded
from unforgettable ride on the rails.


(c) Michael Zuniga All Rights Reserved

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