ALLISON JOSEPH

Aubade at the Train Station

At 4 AM, these station lights glow bright,
the "City of New Orleans" late again,
delayed for some freight train derailed tonight.
You're here to see me off, awake to send
me far away across the land, a trip
I planned without a notion of how hard
it would be to part, not to have your lips
waking me up tomorrow, no reward
from you to motivate me from my bed.
Around us sleepy passengers look grim,
arms sagging on their suitcases, their heads
as bent as wilted stalks, eyes dull, sight dim.
I look at you and hope the train remains
far from this town, still stuck out on the plains.