At six o’clock the train bellows
by the bed and breakfast, where
we sit on the porch, car after car,
and Dave says, My son would love
this. I imagine his boy running
down the hill through the trees,
thrumming, like my son, who hates
all loud noises, hates nature,
bugs and shadows, itchy branches,
but he’d run with Dave’s boy.
Two kids who don’t always know the how
of friendship, but who know how to go
fast, how to move forward then
back, around and around, miles and
miles, like a train, motors thrumming to life,
two boy-men chasing this big track to
its end, into the field beyond.
Hannah Grieco is a writer in Washington, DC. Find her
online at www.hgrieco.com and on Twitter @writesloud.
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