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I) Departure Short ride Blinked And the Conductor Woke me up Last stop he called End of the line The not so secret Graveyards of movement Edge of where sleep can Carry one Time unlike movement Can vanish Blink and a year has passed Suddenly after a month in a new city Your parents are old Or your children are grown Either way the radio no longer plays Music you can recognize Yet the trains Do not change much Marking out time One rocking lullaby at a time II) Return One train To another, To another, To another, Finally the long walk home. Past the bar Which I will end up grabbing a round in Before heading across the street And typing up this weekend’s poems Hard decision figuring out that order Either way New York is almost welcoming With downcast eyes And screaming sirens When compared to the growing limp My father carries himself with Seeing age claim those we love Is a broken promise Fractured while we were off Spending days like easy dollars Until one wakes to frost On youths windows, The sudden knowledge That autumn, is over Displayed in brittleness Of your fathers bones
0
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
To and From Visiting My Sick Father on the LIRR
I) Departure Short ride Blinked And the Conductor Woke me up Last stop he called End of the line The not so secret Graveyards of movement Edge of where sleep can Carry one Time unlike movement Can vanish Blink and a year has passed Suddenly after a month in a new city Your parents are old Or your children are grown Either way the radio no longer plays Music you can recognize Yet the trains Do not change much Marking out time One rocking lullaby at a time II) Return One train To another, To another, To another, Finally the long walk home. Past the bar Which I will end up grabbing a round in Before heading across the street And typing up this weekend’s poems Hard decision figuring out that order Either way New York is almost welcoming With downcast eyes And screaming sirens When compared to the growing limp My father carries himself with Seeing age claim those we love Is a broken promise Fractured while we were off Spending days like easy dollars Until one wakes to frost On youths windows, The sudden knowledge That autumn, is over Displayed in brittleness Of your fathers bones
eliot-greene
Written by
American
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
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