The Amish are singing
in the lounge car.
Elks' blood stains
the engine.
Time has jumped
the tracks.
Three travelers are
off the grid.
The curators' talk
is hard like hale:
They bob their heads
in darkness.
The moonless night paints
windows black.
The steel doors open/close
like cell doors.
The bars have all shut down
in my right hand.
I conceive a picture
from a hundred yards out…
A string of fiery windows
in a silhouette of cars
A black mass fronted by
an eery, suspended cone of light
Flashlights lightly hopping, near
the engine, down the rails
Myriad stars overrunning
an ebony sky
Glow grazing a small
black knob; perhaps a body
...called Still Kansas.
R.D. Ronstad writes mainly humor pieces and poetry. His work has appeared at Defenestration, Scarlet Leaf Review, Every Day Fiction, Rat's Ass Review, Bindweed Magazine and a number of other online sites. He lives with no dogs or cats but has nothing against them.
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