Wedding
Train
by
My
brother and I got married,
wearing Mother's eyelet curtains
over our fat winter jackets.
The Hiawatha was coming.
The switchman, in the red
house, threw down an orange.
We caught it and knelt
down by the rails.
Our ears shivered with animal
fire. This monster could tear
off our wings.
Peter roared out the facts,
about steam and diesel, the power
of horses, and we lifted
our cheeks from the steel.
His ride ended in Chicago,
at Michael Reese Hospital.
I still can't figure
where, on the Milwaukee Road,
he got off.
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