What Happened At 5: 15 Poem by David Alpaugh

as we walked along the railroad track kicking stones
Paul Herschak showed me what the 5: 15
had done to his Indianhead penny:
no feathers... no warrior...
just a copper pancake, smooth and wafer-thin,
three times its minted diameter,
with no date or god left to trust in.

I rubbed the pliant metal between my fingers.
It felt good to get so close to the naked ore;
and thrilling to know you could go to jail
for wreaking such violence on a penny.
It would no longer buy you a candy cigarette
but you could drill a hole and put it on a keychain
with your shark’s tooth and rabbit’s foot.

yesterday an iron horse had kicked Paul’s
penny off the track and thundered on.
still, you couldn’t always count on luck.
Pennies were awfully small; but we all knew
some of them were jinxed—and could derail
the most powerful locomotive.

at 5: 15 the Jersey Central Express
would come around the Netherwood bend
and hurtle past us into the Plainfield station.
Paul grinned: “Do you have a penny? ”
I dug a shiny new one out of my pocket—1949—
and picked some lint off Abraham Lincoln’s beard.

Abe peered into the distance as if he could descry
a mighty engine threatening him and we the people;
could hear citizens scream as the 5: 15
plunged over the thirty-foot embankment;
could see maimed survivors hobbling about,
stunned, like Union soldiers at Bull run.

Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach.
What if my father were early today?
What if Dad were on the 5: 15?

The ties began to vibrate.
The locomotive came around the curve.
The whistle wailed. Paul and I turned and looked back.
Then he dared me and dared me and dared me and dared me

till I knelt and put my penny on the track.