Railroad October

Poetry by Mark Connelly

All night long on rusted rails
the diesel pulls through
Wisconsin’s coal-blackened towns of
crushed cars and dark sheds.

Cool dusk and the
Scent of burning wood.
Weed-tall fields
bank the rails.
Everything worn and rusted
and unwanted is dumped here.

Chicago behind us,
pushing drearily north
to forlorn depots.
College boy adventure crumbles,
in Kerouac jeans
I’m horri…