Poem: In the Name of Speed

In the Name of Speed

They go by in a blur,
a set of stairs, leading up
to, well, you don’t know where. Up.

That is the problem with trains,
no matter how much you like them,
the wide seats, the peace of them,
the rhythm of the rails,
the people, more spread out
and generally nicer than airline travel,
no matter how much you enjoy
this old fashioned way of going
from here to there,

There is no stopping
when curiosity strikes,
and that is one of your flaws, curiosity,
the desire to see around the next corner,
up the stairs, through the locked door,
to turn off the path and allow yourself
the luxury of getting lost, the luxury
of discovery. A weakness of wondering,

and here in your train car
you pass the places where normally,
you would stop. Poke around.
See what is there
before setting out again on your way.

The stairs pass. A fleeting image.
You write, comfortable and at peace.
You will arrive on time, in a predictable place,
a good thing,
Except a part of you will always wonder
what you missed
in the name of speed.

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