Graffiti
You look out the train window at city walls,
all of them stained with graffiti.
marred with bright paint,
sprayed on late at night to mark territory
like a lover’s caress,
or to change history,
as if a swipe of color
could transform the truth
of the edifice underneath.
Wash it if you will.
The graffiti will return,
surer than love,
surer than hate.
What is left is neither trash or art,
but a melding of both,
an act of will,
like a spurned lover’s lies,
staining all it touches.
unsafe,
dark,
and oddly beautiful.
About this Poem
There are likely to be some train poems in the days ahead. I made an unexpected trip to Virginia on the train this weekend, and as I rode, often snapped shots while the daylight held. I traveled from the snow covered hills of Vermont, to Penn Station in New York before daylight fell.
This shot was taken in Yonkers. Watching the graffiti fly by, I thought about how many people imprint themselves on our own lives, and how life can be a constant erasing and accepting the paint others attempt to mark us with. And from that thought, this poem.
Tom
Quarry House 
A thoughtful look at something that often engenders disdain – shifting the perspective. Thanks Tom! Plus, “anything from a train” is worth a deeper examination in my book… 🙂
A train lover huh? I enjoy them too. I lived many years in Roanoke, Va, a real train town, and came to love the whole gamut of trains and their history.
I confess – train lover. I caught the bug in Scranton, PA when I was in junior high school. Being in Brattleboro now, I have plenty to keep me occupied, especially as I dig into the local history. Vermont has many rich and fascinating chapters of railroad lore.
Speaking of history, isn’t the banner at the top of your blog a scene from inside the blockhouse at Fort McClary? I recall we have spoken of mutual visits there, in past comments.
Actually no, the shot is from Poplar Forest, which was Thomas Jefferson’s “other” house (Everyone know Montecello). It’s in Forest, Va, near Lynchburg.