Along the sprawled body of the derailed Great Northern freight car,
I strike a match slowly and lift it slowly.
No wind.

Beyond town, three heavy white horses
Wade all the way to their shoulders
In a silo shadow.

Suddenly the freight car lurches.
The door slams back, a man with a flashlight
Calls me good evening.
I nod as I write good evening, lonely
And sick for home.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 1604 times | Comments (0)

Poet: James Wright
Poem: Outside Fargo, North Dakota

Poem of the Day on:
Jul 10 2006
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