Trains

Trains by David Shumate

I am seduced by trains. When one moans in the night like somedragon gone lame, I rise and put on my grandfather's suit. I pack asmall bag, step out onto the porch, and wait in the darkness. I restmy broad-brimmed hat on my knee. To a passerby I'm a curious sight—a solitary man sitting in the night. There's somethingunsettling about a traveler who doesn't know where he's headed.You can't predict his next move. In a week you may receive apostcard from Haiti. Madagascar. You might turn on youranswering machine and hear his voice amid the tumult of a Bangkok avenue. All afternoon you feel the weight of the thingsyou've never done. Don't think about it too much. Everythingstarts to sound like a train.

"Trains" by David Shumate from The Floating Bridge. © University of Pittsburgh Press, 2008. Reprinted with permission on Writer's Almanac.

Photo Takidani Train Station 5 from Mr Mark on Flickr.