Slow train

This kind of waiting is a tenuous one. 

Sudden death with all its shock and fury, its swirl and spin comes at us with the mercy of a lightning bolt.

A flash and it is over and we are left with the burn. And the burn smolders on . . .

But slow death, a creeping concern, a heavy train on a one-way track and no stopping, no reverse, a heavy load on a solid, cold rail, a slow tick clack scrape to a certain end.

And we can only watch from the platform, left behind as she rides on. It’s an insipid pain knowing the track ends, the bridge is out, the wreck is coming and we will find a way to survive the crumple mess we saw coming.

And we are left with the scars. And the scars bleed on . . .

(November 11, 2012)