Hop hop hoping
I
We’ve all seen it done
in the movies. A
slip, slam, bam
and their up!
It’s like they knowd
how to do it
as soon as they
stood on those
tracks.
Like, jumping
them was as natur-
al as riding a bike.
So I played in the creek
and listened to them
come
and
come down. Down off from
the somewhere where
they went and
whence they came.
II
I would take pennies
quarters, nickles,
half dollars – when
people once knew what
half dollars and silver dollars
were on the tongues of
everyone, and they
were coveted – BUT
if you put down too many,
everyone knew, you could
derail ’em. There were
tons of stories
told of how 10
15
20
silver dollars lined up
in a cross
in a line
stacked up
took out a whole line of
cars.
And when they’d come,
I watch the steel
the repetitive steel
smoosh
and smash
a ching chink them
to razor smooth
and I dreamed.
I watched the first wheels,
and then I watched those
ladders.
Those easily grabbed
easily snagged
and easily
touched
ladders. A small
piece of metal,
behind standing on
gravel and chugging
off!
III
I was on my bike
before the smell
of chalk dust and
pencil shavings was
off my clothes. My
hands still stained from
a hard gripped crayon
and a marker mark
decorated my left
forearm. The inside
of my right middle
finger still dented
from the pencil that
now bounced around
in a small black
pack.
I stood at the road
next to the large
lot that would mark the
truth of growth and
age, and the passing of time
when out of the field
came large dozers to
play on at night,
then a business park
that changed the creek
the tracks and….
but now
i stand at the tracks
and the whistle blows
from around the corner.
My hands tingled
reminded of the many times
those handles had
hit my hand, and
the first time that was
a dare. The Engine was
first, and I would get 15
chances, and then 3
hours later, 10
more. The first ladder was
always too thick,
the second too rickety
the third
broken.
Fourth
Fifth
Sixth
Seven
Eight
Nine
flown by in a
whirl of brown
and yellow. Ten
caught the
middle finger
11
12
13
smack my right
hand hard.
14 felt like my
hand was broken
and 15
felt cool and cold
in my gripped hand.
A feeling of metal
and victory
and no clue to the
RIPPING
sensation that
encompassed
my under arm, the
pulled skin in my wrist
then continuous
bashing
of my knees and
sromach as they met cold
hard steel
at 40 mph. The
toes sent stories of
feeling what it feels
like to be in a blender
and I was dragging
along a locamotive!
And why not?
Just pull yourself up, and
you’re off onto an adventure.
After over gripping
fear,
strained skin and muscles,
the amount of bugs
hitting my bare face
I was standing,
just in time to
pull into the loading yard
2 miles away-
just in time.
