Night Freight

by SL Ruth

Two forty AM
The sheets are gray and
Rope-twisted for an escape
In the muted absence of light
While my eyes dilate
Fixed on the flourescent numbers
Outlined in greenish glow
I grope for the time-thinned
White cotton robe to cover my nakedness
The steady click-clacking alarm
The only sound
Sweat flushes my body
As I move across the heart of pine
Floor ribbed and gritty under
Toughened and calloused feet
To the rickety porch beyond
A crooked screened door upon which
Is pinned a wad of cotton
Discouraging only me
I sit on the splintered stoop
Smoothing the back of the robe
Between my legs
Which fall free like the
Limp sash draped down the steps
On either side of me
A tiny white moth flutters past my lashes
Like a spark from the crepuscular train
Where it leans as the rails slink
Into a curve half-mile away
I feel the rumble of hot steel
Crushing against cresoted ties
Squealing like a mama hog
As the terrible freight
Wobbles along the monotonous
Nightly run of
Soul-wrenching vibrations
The smell of burning oil and nerves
Speeding through the dark heavy night
Whips the warmed August air
Against my skin where wisps of hair
Not struck down with sweat
Sting my eyes
Breath drawn into lungs near suffocated
Expelled like the low whistle in
Warning, deafening, mournful blasts
I am the earth beneath hurdling
With the train above like
A mindless android caterpillar
Unstoppable
Whining, creaking, splitting the dark
I feel life draining out of me
As the night freight South rocks past