Subtle Train

A poem for my brother, Dan Hawk

The conductor
passes a glance
as I stare and
swing onto the
rusted iron bar
welded to the
boxcar on this
subtle rail-line.

Inside its gut
are unmarked crates
with parts unknown.
Beneath me is
a soundtrack of
the lumbering
wheels, neatly oiled,
across the rails.

My brother is
racing along
the train screaming
"I'm telling mom!"
"tell her I said
goodbye again!"
I shout in a
faded distance.

The path stretches
far; I salute
with a long wave
and a quick smile.
My brother stops
with his arms at
his sides and turns
into a speck.

For a moment
think I see
tears dawn his face
before slowly
disappearing
under the hill,
but there is no
way of telling.