A one-level Starlight coasts
by—so quiet. I guzzle jaggedly
back to its older, chug-chugging
doppleganger double. Spend a
moment, wonder if the early black
and white film movie stars
have displaced memory,
fogged actual events… No, by
god, because—yes!—we did
stick our heads out windows
yelling “Bye mommas!” “Smell
ya laters!” and “Woooooo-hooooos!”
as the thing broke our standstill
to chuttle North into the open
arms of our Seattle Aunt
awaiting us. Charred stink breezing
through an open smoking car,
indoor-outdoor convenience,
an anachronistic contrivance
with no place in our world evolving
out of the smoke.
Out of the coal
shovel chafing black dust
we glide into the electric humming
of a freon century packed in
with nutritional bars,
vitamin shots whizzing down
the veins to the senseless
hearts of our yogi bourgeoise.
We love that smoke, the dirt,
grime, the throated roars
my brother and I cannon
to parents standing
on the track, with half our
bodies—yes half!—hung
out the open windows,
dangling downside up,
all smiles a s o u r w o r l d p u l l s a w a y...
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