the other side of the tracks

she wanted to make
love
in the back seat of my car.
drive
over the tracks
she said, all the way,
I don't want a train
to hit us.
good idea, I told her,
steering
the old ford
over the cinder stones
and rails,
stopping under
a canopy of trees,
full with spring rains.
this is good she said,
crawling over
the seat. come on.
leave the radio on, she said.
but my battery,
I told her, I don't want
to kill my battery.
she rolled her eyes
as her blouse came off,
then her jeans.
what are you doing, she said.
popping
a can of black label beer.
finally I got in back.
then a train came.
a long slow train no more
than ten
feet in front of us.
the engineered looked down
and waved,
I thought I heard him call
out her name.
finally, the caboose appeared,
dull red,
with an old man on the back
stoop.
hey marcy, he yelled. waving
a flashlight.
a whistle blew.