Express

by William Fox

Serenity’s in the eye of the storm. Express- train hurtling to an outside ear proves a vexing, agreeable lie. Graffiti- adorning lout moves inside his confiding wall. For here’s serenity, in the eye of the storm. Maybe it’s the rocking calms us down. A tender warm divided amongst the ties and the mums. For me it’s the sight of some pretending the yawns are false alarms. When I see the nods to sleep I know a driver comes to smile. His charming waltz with weeping cars calls for parental revelry. Tonight he’ll end up getting to rest while his babies - still dreaming with the sway - miss their stop and zombified alight for working day. Maybe though we best like the wheels – admire the way they teeter on the tracks. Promiscuous yet balanced they wind up sealing a sworn and dire sentence. Hot kiss of steel to menacing steel lacks the serenity of grinding it in the eye of the storm.

pg01

Return to Contents