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    On The Rail
    On The Rail
    On The Rail
    Ebook229 pages1 hour

    On The Rail

    By Christopher Devitt

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Moving meditation,

    Rolling raucus party.

    You can stay on track

    But never know where you go.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChristopher Devitt
    Release dateJun 28, 2016
    ISBN9781533702456
    On The Rail

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      Book preview

      On The Rail - Christopher Devitt

      Somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed to me.

      – Jack Kerouac  On The Road

      ––––––––

      Missed it.

      Missed it again.

      – CD  Chaps & Chumps

      Prologue

      Minneapolis To Chicago

      Chicago Union Station

      Chicago To New York 

      New York Penn Station

      New York Next Day

      New York To Chicago 

      Chicago

      Chicago To Minneapolis

      Minneapolis

      Prologue

      Hard upon fall Equinox

      I achieve the equinumerous,

      Indeed, I say, supernumerary,

      Double Nickels of death and decay.

      Sweet summer shades

      To autumn angst of awe.

      ––––––––

      The boys of summer are all but through,

      But heros play on through the playoffs.

      Long held rites of youth and life

      Crescendo with time in World Serious.

      ––––––––

      I learn that stately Yankee Stadium,

      The House That Ruth Built,

      Made, by God, in 1923,

      Shall be no more –

      They'll knock it down,

      They'll blow it up;

      To build a brand new yard next door.

      ––––––––

      By way of  whim and fantasy

      I stoutly aim to train

      To Chi Town, Union Station,

      To The Rock, Penn Station;

      Made of money Midtown Manhattan,

      And then up to the Bad Bronx;

      Behind the eight ball,

      To catch the final curtain call,

      Cheer last surviving game.

      ––––––––

      And why?

      Can't say.

      Why not?

      Sey hey!

      Minneapolis To Chicago

      20 September, O Dark Hundred.

      ––––––––

      Start and stop,

      Toss and turn.

      Bounce up bad.

      I’m goin' to New York;

      I’m goin'  if I have to walk.

      ––––––––

      Morning ablution and exercise.

      Spy corn dogs left on stovetop,

      Abandoned I don’t know when.

      To break my fast

      That great repast.

      It's time to go –

      Hi ho!

      ––––––––

      Kiss me quick –

      I’m off and on.

      Money stashed in shoe.

      Even Steven, early even,

      Curbside cab on time.

      ––––––––

      Yellow Cab but not the Checker.

      Inevitable immigrant chap.

      Say I’m off to New York to see Pinstripes play,

      And then turn meself round and come back.

      ––––––––

      He, of dark skin and bright mien,

      Knows not sport from fork.

      As day breaks in lingering grey

      We laugh.

      And it’s a fine good morning

      And a great grand thing.

      ––––––––

      Ticket's in order.

      Last car on your left.

      Final smoke.

      Board away.

      Two tier –

      Upstairs? Down?

      Muddle about.

      Finally find a seat;

      Grab some pine.

      And now the steel wheels roll

      To Chicago.

      ––––––––

      Sun crash hard orange luminescent

      Off the Mighty Mississippi.

      Sweet light rushes through my window.

      Coal laden barge to my right.

      Rush wild past an oncoming train

      Four feet from my face.

      Death.

      ––––––––

      Wind through St Paul we wend.

      There’s the pointillist small boat marina.

      Well kept craft always sport bright paint.

      And the magnificent paddle-wheel riverboat,

      Now an imperial floating theater.

      ––––––––

      There is 19th Century style melodrama there,

      Replete with mustachioed villains,

      Beautiful damsels in distress;

      Booing, hissing, and cheering;

      Backing piano and olio.

      And drinks are served.

      ––––––––

      Once upon a time,

      Naughty naughty student children

      Slyly contrived to steal it,

      Then dashingly drove it down river.

      So they gutted it

      And there it sits.

      Can't blame 'em.

      Any of 'em.

      ––––––––

      Pound the gum.

      It’s gotten old.

      Wherever shall I put it?

      ––––––––

      Quiet and subdued aboard.

      People fumble about for food.

      There's the hopeful air;

      There is good cheer.

      Is this what they call happiness?

      Or is it only haziness?

      ––––––––

      Greenery stoutly presents itself.

      Heightened by altering hue,

      Tempered by warm and warming sun,

      Streaking world without

      Shows cinematic splendor.

      ––––––––

      To jar and jolt,

      I see detritus of our breed:

      Trappings of industry,

      Loading and storage,

      Random rubble,

      Ramshackle back yards.

      ––––––––

      We roll on,

      And on we roll,

      On The Empire Builder

      Bound for Chicago.

      ––––––––

      Out of town and onward.

      Great thing to travel –

      By merely sitting calmly still

      One might expect to make progress.

      (A bit like yogi yoga).

      ––––––––

      Flat verdant fields

      Fringed in down home brown.

      Early autumn arbor.

      Highways, byways,

      Trucks and cars.

      The odd spewing smokestack.

      Telephone poles,

      Power lines,

      Water towers;

      Buildings unknown, unnamed, and indescribable.

      Dirt roads,

      Out buildings,

      Rolling hills,

      Craggy cliffs.

      Yawning precipice below.

      At treetop height we pass

      Puddle-splash bodies of water,

      Inkblots here and there.

      ––––––––

      So that and this

      And this and that;

      I know not what.

      Nor name

      Nor where,

      And sure as shit not the wherefore.

      ––––––––

      Suddenly jump cut the window scene.

      We’re by God bounded –

      Wide wide surprise,

      By must be the mighty Mississip.

      Or is it Old Man River.

      ––––––––

      Slight fog like breath on glass

      Obscures the distant shore.

      Tiny islands here and there,

      Wild overgrown luxuriant,

      With lush and lavish foliage.

      Buoys, buoys everywhere.

      ––––––––

      Warm or cold blooded,

      The train groans

      As we hard wind,

      Pedal to the metal,

      Cut steel,

      Snake along the river.

      ––––––––

      I spy a sign.

      West St. Croix, it says.

      But where is that?

      And where am I?

      ––––––––

      Through dense forest,

      Heavily canopied.

      Suddenly spooky dark

      Where the sun don’t shine.

      ––––––––

      Now out into open country

      To view land that looks like Germany.

      Funneling plain of Fulda Gap,

      Tank country.

      Now, peacefully from a train,

      I remember Reforger soldiering

      In days of decades of yore.

      ––––––––

      We don’t move fast

      But we do keep moving.

      I sit on my ass;

      I take my ease.

      ––––––––

      Cross the wide river.

      Old Iron bridge.

      Thunder rumbles

      Like artillery fire.

      I hold my breath.

      ––––––––

      Pass fanciful graffiti

      On rusting freight train canvas.

      Bold Red Green Blue.

      It's art.

      ––––––––

      More water,

      More trees.

      Some stark flagrant green.

      But too –

      Tattoo orange, yellow, gold,

      Even raucous red.

      Past huge hulking mounds of dirt

      And idle digging machines.

      What’s all this and that?

      ––––––––

      Look:

      See corn,

      Silos,

      Barns,

      Horses,

      Old wooden fences.

      Farm country.

      ––––––––

      Don’t blink.

      Through small town.

      Provincial Americana drivers –

      Up 'n at 'em

      Eager Beaver

      Get up and go

      Saturday morning driving.

      ––––––––

      Back to ravel tangle bramble,

      Patchy concealing canopy.

      By calm unfazed flowing water,

      Fishermen fishing.

      ––––––––

      Baseball caps,

      Fluorescent orange vests,

      Fishing lines,

      And all the rest.

      ––––––––

      Pass pond and swamp;

      Water lilies, reeds, cattails.

      Viscous green slime over some.

      Vast farmer fields –

      Striated, striped,

      Brown and golden.

      Ruler manmade straightedge,

      Never found in nature.

      ––––––––

      And there’s a trailer park.

      What a funny term.

      Rather like a car park.

      Where the tennis courts, trees and picnic tables?

      The little wild animals?

      But I know.

      There they are!

      ––––––––

      More black or white highway,

      Hills of dirt of various hue.

      The art of life attacks in technicolor.

      We train on.

      ––––––––

      Pick up speed.

      Now we're rolling.

      Past flimsy cars, falling apart.

      There’s a big old barn.

      Is that an outhouse?

      An out building, surely.

      ––––––––

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