Honking Train Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

I have been
waiting
for a honking
train to take

me to
a distant super-
market
in the outskirts

of a tail-
dragging, sprawling
town spraying
tentacles

to parts tumbling
from hills
lining flat land.

The sprayed shop
carries
life on its
palm like an egg,

the crystal
glass piece
not to be broken.

The sprawling
shop swings
and waves every
piece to fit

into life's harness
pulling all to safety.

(ii)

I sit, eyes flung
out into
tunneled space
from my porch,

watching
out for the train's
cowcatcher

and see only
an empty carpet
of space.

I shift closer
to a hole
beneath my window,
etching out

from thick fog
its gangway,

but find no engine
car, no passenger
wagon, no
dent for a gangway,

no light, no trail
of smoke.

(iii)

I hear no rumbling
screeching
wheels on rails,
but see
the rounded head
and collum,

tergites the only
compartments
of a beast
that takes me

to the supermarket
waving
and flagging every

pesticide
to send back
the train
to its home station,

but still find
on my return the same
millipede
crawling its way

back to the hole
down
its basement
home
without hooting
or honking.