the long slow crawl home

as the train

leaves in a slow rumble

through

the tunnel

beneath

the city, your eyes adjust

to the light

as it slithers

into Newark,

the wastelands

along the jersey pike,

Philadelphia, stacked

in bricks,

into Delaware,

across cold

blue water, 

along side all the places

you'll never

visit on foot.

nothing good seems to

grow

near the bands of

steel tracks.

abandoned warehouses,

rusted signs

of another age.

who lives these lives?

into Wilmington,

to Baltimore,

it's getting dark out,

and finally, a slow

crawl

to Washington, home

at last.