Conflagrations

At night, windows open, the wind just right, I can hear the freight train coursing through my pretty little town. Sometimes, I think, Take me with you; sometimes, I think about hopping on that sucker and riding it all the way to Montreal or Alabama or wherever it goes. I could leave my life, leave a me-sized hole in the middle of it. I could find myself in another context, on a dirty mouse-ridden train. I could be wrapped in the mournful sound that men love, through the tunnels in the cities, through the greening countryside, in the rain and in the light. I could watch it all pass by me. I could light old cardboard on fire in the middle of the night, then throw it from the train. I could watch the fire die out in the cool air, I could leave the charred pieces of myself behind and hurtle towards someone new, a station that holds me, for a while, anyway, and I will rest there before the whistle blows, and I'm warming the tracks again.