Family
The Ghost Drivers Of The Midnight Train
The Ghost Drivers Of The Midnight Train The steam train ran down the tracks, Fast and unaware, That the ghosts of many drivers, Were still lingering in the air, Within the steam their faces rose, Of the ones who loved that train, The ones who drove it through the night, Through wind and storm and rain.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 6 days ago in Poets
Uncertain Weather
October has uncertain weather. A monochrome sky, I think. Air that turns the AM radio to static. Rain, probably, since the roads of October are always slippery in my memory. A darkness perfect for masks. Mine was Casper the friendly ghost, plastic and white. There’s no screech from tires. No thud of impact. But there’s a bump in the road, then one under the mask from my forehead meeting the dashboard. Maybe there was fog There must have been fog. Suddenly my mom is dropping me at school with children dressed as Superman, Wonder Woman, Bozo the Clown. I slip off my mask when the teacher passes out snacks: pumpkin-shaped cookies, blood-red punch. She has known me for almost two months. She must know I get hurt at home. She doesn’t ask. Years later, my brother tells me he was the bump in the road, that our mother pushed him from the car. October has many twisting roads. Some go through rain. Some through static. Some lead to my brother. All circle back to our mother, to the scene of a possible crime. I keep my mask on and continue through October.
By Tina D. Lopez8 days ago in Poets
