Last Train to Bellingham: Poem
Do you like this poem?
Then check out my poetry book, Digging to China, released by Sweatshoppe Publications. This poem is in it, along with fifty others. Signed copies are available throughSweateshoppe Publications. It's also available on Barnes and Noble andAmazon.com.
Unfortunately, I haven't figured out how to center justify text on hubPages, but you can view it in that format on my blog. Normally it doesn't matter, but in this case it does. To get the full effect of this poem, I recommend copying and pasting the text into Word or OpenOffice and center justifying it. You could also just pick up a copy of my book and see it there :-) I hope you enjoy it!
Last Train to Bellingham
Again
the train is stopped.
Sixty miles out of Portland
and we've been stopped
for thirty minutes.
Now we're going again,
and now we're stopped
again.
We're letting another freight train pass.
Three kids next to me-
(oh, Lord God, bless their mother)
The crunching of a potato chip bag,
nickels flung against my chair,
disobedient little monsters!
I scowl at them not hiding my contempt.
Their mother looks
(tired)
at me
ready to leave the
little monsters on the train.
A bag of chips just exploded next to me.
They are all over the floor.
The carpet is greasy and crumby.
I don't help pick up.
The bag was exploded by Dylan Thomas.
The eldest-- a girl--
left her books
in the locker at the train station.
I'd kill for a cigarette.
I like the train whistle--
and the guy with the disheveled pink hair
and pink scarf and
lime green shirt and
corduroy jacket--
and the teriyaki chicken
rice bowl
I had for dinner--
and Puget Sound out the window
to my right--
and the book I'm trying to read between
prepubescent outbursts.
I'm glad that I'm not driving.
Again.
It's 5:00-- rush hour--
and if I were driving
I'd still be stopped
in that asphalt gridlock, nicknamed “Seattle.”
But at least now I can have beer.
Oh, my darling
I love you so.
Tomorrow we move you to Portland.
and I'll be driving the U-Haul
past these same rail lines.
Stuck in traffic--
and wishing for three little monsters
instead of traffic jams.
And never will I have to make this trip
without you.
Again.
all rights reserved. Copyright Justin W. Price 2011.
Thanks for Reading.
A FREELANCE WRITER, HONORS STUDENT AND GOVER PRIZE FINALIST, JUSTIN W. PRICE (AKA, PDXKARAOKEGUY) CONSIDERS HIMSELF A POET FIRST AND FOREMOST BUT IS ALSO A SHORT STORY, BIOGRAPHER AND HUMOR WRITER. HIS POETRY COLLECTION,DIGGING TO CHINA, WILL BE RELEASED FEBRUARY 2ND, 2013 BY SWEATSHOPPE PUBLICATIONS AND IS CURRENTLY AVAILABLE ON AMAZON AS WELL AS YOUR LOCAL BOOKSELLER.
HIS WORK WILL ALSO BE FEATURED IN BEST NEW FICTION (2014 EDITION), AND HAS APPEARED PREVIOUSLY IN THE RUSTY NAIL, EFICTION, EFICTION HUMOR, THE CRISIS CHRONICLES, THE HELLROARING REVIEW AND THE BELLWETHER REVIEW. HE CURRENTLY SERVES AS MANAGING EDITOR OF EHORROR MAGAZINE AND THE BRIDGE ONLINE NEWSPAPER. HE PREVIOUSLY SERVED AS THE POETRY AND CORRESPONDENCE EDITOR FOR THE BELLWETHER REVIEW.
HE WORKS AS A FREELANCE WRITER, EDITOR, AND GHOST WRITER, AND IS WORKING TOWARDS HIS PH.D. HE LIVES IN A SUBURB OF PORTLAND, OREGON WITH HIS WIFE, ANDREA, THEIR LABRADOODLE, BELLA, SCHNOODLE, SAUVEE AND BLACK MOOR GOLDFISH, HOWARD WOLOWITZ.
PLEASE VISIT HIS PROFILE PAGE FOR MORE INFORMATION. THANKS!
More of my Poetry
- The Ant, Tired of Being Stepped on, Decides to Speak Up.
a poem about a confident ant - Did Ponce De Leon Ever Find That Fountain?
getting older is wonderful and sad - Driving at Night
the destination is not half as fun as the journey - I Spilled My Corn Flakes
recalling a traumatic event from a young age - she always was a deep sleeper
a poem about rejection