drove past a train
on the no. one
rail cars legato for miles
like words in a Joyce novel
I barely noticed
trains are there so often
like the fixed order on the
periphery of our lives
the world doesn’t stop
even though we are heading to
the hospital or funeral home
hand pulling at the face and chin
feeling stubble of life’s resistance
but that day I looked
and saw the beautiful
graffiti on one of the cars
all it said poetry said it all
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