Waiting Room

Midnight approaches with its headlamp beam
fanned before it, at full speed,
with no intention
of pausing for breath
or of stopping

to pick up passengers
bathing in the warmth of the glass
enclosing them. They watch

as the minutes rush by, as the carriages
roll past them
with somewhere important to go.
The sky is salted with frozen stars

and the tracks lie bolted
to the Earth, awaiting
the slow train with a recycled locomotive
that moves as sure as faith
toward them, stumbling on its wheels,

pulling by a chain
a single wagon, unheated
but alight with hope.

David Chorlton lives in Phoenix and enjoys a view of the desert mountain that occupies its space surrounded by the city. He has had an unusual year in which watching the local wildlife has been a help in his recovery. Read other articles by David.