My shift concludes at twilight
with mind and body weary from toil,
hair ringed by the hardhat’s band, and
steel toed boots weighting each step to my truck.
Machine scrapes, screeches, and clanks
distorted to echoes in the distance
that haunt this desolate place.

Holly heavy with red drupes
lines the lot near the lonesome train yard.
In the bush they can’t be still,
birds treat branches like a jungle gym,
the sparrows delight in life here.
Chirps, twitters, rudimentary song
with many discordant singers.

Battered boxcars want their fill,
newspapers and cans carelessly tossed,
rusty gears pyramid piled
incongruous with delicate birds.
For no reason, one pops out
and hovers above in the night sky,
haloed by mist and moon glow.

It is perplexing to me,
these feathered flying beings of earth
living amidst ugliness.
What fantastic creatures they would be
were I to see with new eyes.
I whisper softly, “Is your mind free
or shackled tight by worries,

just like me?”

02/12/2005

Posted on 02/13/2005
Copyright © 2026 David Hill