By Nancy Williams Lazar
Rain falls like crazy off the roof
in Windsor Locks,
beside the canal, river-leaning
telegraph poles wrapped with
wires wave us on.
Cellphone Lady broadcasts she’s
a prisoner on this train– aren’t we all!
Hartford air rushes hot, stale as a dog.
No good artists; Squid, splat
and VD have only blue and black
all with tired edges.
Between stops, dead on tracks,
one sad train looks like New York
City smashed every window
and colored her up
for a party
she’s not invited to.
Walled between stone on the far
side of town
a leafy canopy masks
the colors of love,
swooped in green
and blue, filled with righteous yellow,
marshmallow round like your perfect lips
Happy National Train Day.