there is a train that
blows it's whistle at night
while i'm in bed.
when i was little,
i cried naive tears
every time i heard it,
because i thought
it was a
cruise ship
taking other children to
disney land
and leaving me behind.
i was not too much older when i
shouted groggily
out me window
in the mornings
at the city workers
cutting Ys into our trees
because they thought it smart
to put power lines
in the way of
two innocent maples.
i told them they
were my trees.
i watched green leaves
carefully grow back in,
until those men returned, again.
it's been a long time
since my groggy, tearful mornings,
but
the Ys are still there,
and i've never been
to disney land.