Anytown, AL 

A train screams through main street. 

An outburst in a muggy silence 

like shouting so hard I puke 

at an empty church altar. 

The people in cars ignore it. 

Closing windows so the  

screeching rails just sound 

like the drone of cicadas. 

Dust whips by the squat 

buildings as main street gets 

severed in half. 

The wind hasn’t blown  

in weeks and the stagnant grit 

finally gets a chance to fly away. 

The car tires melt on the pavement. 

Their owners are bound to Earth.  

Industrial groaning tears through 

the hush like the trumpet’s call. 

The sun sits heavily on my neck 

and shoulders and hardens  

my joints. The endless 

train hollers, but everyone 

turns their heads. It’s better 

if everyone ignores it.