Rhythm of the Iron Road
West of
along the slow Patapsco
where railwaymen
once cursed
in Gaelic as they laid the first track
and weeds poked through ruins
of the drowned mill towns,
I stood at woods’ edge and watched
the freight cars pass.
Metal shook like maddened drums
and the air breaks hissed
like muted chimes
and filled me up with the rhythm
of the iron road.
Like a hoodoo song
it moved me,
like a hoodoo song
it moved me and I ran
kicking up stones alongside
the tracks until I leaped
and let the steel bars
carry me away.