Girl on the track
White skirts billowing out
Like cream curdling,
She stands on the track
Barefoot, spiked by grasses
Springing up between even-
Spaced splintering wood.
Fields blow out on every side,
A living blanket of wildflowers.
Crossing the way to her future,
A car sits, the engine silenced,
Like the heart inside her ribs,
Still beating but not feeling it.
The driver’s profile waits, smoking
A cigar, twisting, playing with it,
Doesn’t chance a glance her way,
Knowing she has nowhere to go.
Nimbus clouds gather on high,
Darkening the sky with anger.
The hot sun scalds in its intensity,
Lighting the girl’s bare shoulders.
She tugs out the broken underwire
From her ripped skirt and runs,
Without a glance back to where
The clouds are circling for a fight.
A train is approaching far off,
Its whistle dying on the wind.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 19, 2020
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