Railroad Museum

Giggling in denim dungarees,
overalls, and engineer’s caps,

with sunburned cheeks
and chocolate-smeared lips

the color of faded boxcars,
oily ties and rusted spikes,

they kick up dust between the rails
on August afternoons,

flitting from engine to engine,
caboose to caboose, as if

iron horses were clover blossoms
and short-legged bodies were bees.

About the author

James S. Wilk is a physician in Denver, Colorado, specializing in medical disorders complicating pregnancy. His poems have recently appeared in 42 Magazine, Boston…

Read the full bio

Issue 06 · August 2009

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