Trainspotting in Time

Travel

and the means by which

we see loved ones,

force us, lingering in a glorified hallway,

to swing our machetes

through the brush of our dwindling minds.

Clear the tangled roots from the rusted train tracks,

Guide the warm exhaust of fiery coal

Through a universal chimney.

Leave our living rooms in a state of peace.

We don’t wish to wash

our weakened teak floorboards,

to remove soot from our socks before bed,

Rubbing charred splotches

Along the seams of our sheets,

as we wiggle free from our blankets

to give praise to our celestial benefactor

Each morning.

Such a pendulum swing of emotions,

to praise the highest heavens for the gift of life,

only to revoke this joy

when slight errors erode

the unspoken truth,

that we are the blessed one

of the entire galaxy.

Unintentional mistakes,

usually of our own doing,

we interpret intentionally

as insidious slights

against our very appeal for happiness,

and identity.

The bronze framed mirror expands our world,

But it’s still blank,

Save the clock above the fireplace.

It’s moustached face facing outward,

never able to see it’s own reflection.

What a torturous curse,

to watch yourself remain,

unable to leap off your mantle,

as time expires.

It’s getting late.

I need to catch my train

Before it falls upon my floor,

And disassembles

into an array of wheels, cogs, and cylinders,

Stranding me

In this glorified hallway.  

Michael Carney