The rain pelted the roof of the car
Like so many caps being popped
by eager children with hammers.

Somewhere deep within the night
a train whistle blew
near tracks that run through
the middle of town.

One long lonesome tone
moving, echoing, merging with my heart.

“We're home, we're home,”
his voice gently waking me,
running his hands along my thighs
urging me to stir.

The caps popped away
I fought the discomfort of movement
My heart yearned for one
one more whistle blow.