the train slows
down as it crosses the trestle,
blowing it's
loud horn, screeching almost
to a halt.
the wheels grinding against
the steel rails,
over the planks
and boards,
the starched gravel, shards
oiled
and grey
in this morning sun.
two fools are on the track
with their dog, they smile
and
wave. their lives so close
to ending.
so close
to finding a freshly dug
grave.
the engineer presses onward.
finding speed again.
wondering.
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