FLUX

Heat of summer
wrapped in beach towel humidity
and winds that burn
this sun that blisters

their lives in boxes
and I propped up at the bar
the barmaiden charms
and double black russians
and beer

I pack their lives in neat boxes
and packing tape
as if I could fit into a box so tidy
my corners full
my edges perfect

Instead My daughter interrupts
this work last eve' and she
and i sit atop the old archive
#503 steam engine I on the
smokestack welded shut
and she on the steam dome
sitting chatting daddy and daughter
as if all daddies and daughters sit
atop old dead steam trains while
the dusk crawls and the whitecaps
can be seen from our high perch

She has my eyes the wonderful
grey green hue and discusses her
college courses and the town where
I once grew and left Where she and
I toured in her little childs buggy and
then wagon named Erebus
our adventures then
Our adventures now

she bids me adieu at the front of the
"Voy" "old blinky" the winking sign
winks us apart

I still visit #503
saving to climb atop of it only when
my daughter visits
and then we sit astride its running
fenders above the drive wheels
in the lee of the wind to chat
our legs kicking high above
the ground