I Race a Train
I race a train to erase the day
tough graffiti, I tap my foot to the chuga-chuga,
count each day unsolved like the box cars,
which are full of the lumber
we used to call trees.
I race clouds in canals next to the harbor,
watch seabirds watch
frigatebirds dive into toxic tides.
I race rows and rows of lettuce,
Lettuce rises like a choir of voices: steam
above each head, sound
by the thwack-thwack of a helicopter rotor
hiss and spray over the fields,
I cannot outrace this fog
and try not to breathe as I enter my house.
Outside my window
a valley of wind and lettuce
in a sea of earth.
Off in the distance
no bigger than a spoon is headed toward my table.
Photo Credit: Stewart Ferebee