by Nick Hansen '20
The whistling train
comes around every night,
a reminder of all things
haunting my mind.
It’s rumble,
increasing
with violent approach,
not stopping
for anything
in its god-forsaken path.
The whine of the horn
reminds me of anguish
caused by the past mistakes
of a suffering boy.
I lay awake as the train comes nearer,
my heart
pounding
like a tattered snare drum.
The horn boasts again,
this time with utter force.
It has come to judge
the fears of the broken-hearted.
The climax comes, but the train keeps moving,
not stopping to let me catch my breath.
It has struck dead-center
sending a pulse through my chest,
the damage
already done.
Contemplating what happened
will do no good;
It’s impossible to understand the unexpected.
The train will be back
again the next night,
but I won’t be ready
for the next fight.
I will never be ready.