I Stood on the Buckle

Of a twisted train car,

a boxcar and between it

and a tanker, or maybe a hopper car,

I don’t remember, but I remember

that daddy had seen the derailment,

the train wreck and thought to bring

my brother and me. I remember

it was dry and dusty, somewhere

not too far from our home in Shorter,

Alabama, maybe to the south a ways,

there were no guards there,

no one to keep us safe,

we climbed wherever we wanted,

and later we went somewhere else,

but I have no memory of anything

but standing on the buckle between

the derailed cars of that broken train.

Like the train, that broken moment

remains in the mind of an old man!