Page 12



Train Tracks Abbie Morin With cut off denim shorts and filthy tennis shoes, Sunburned cheeks and a couple of joints stuffed in our pockets We would traverse the rusting metal rails Like tight rope walkers We’d wander down the tracks through unkempt foliage Clutching 99 cent cans of Arizona Iced Tea and Talking about what we couldn’t possibly have understood At the tenderfoot age of seventeen We never made wrong turns And finding home was always just going back the way we came. Today I find that the rotting planks of wood Do nothing for me Anymore But break my stride Dictate my direction And keep me looking Over my shoulder Constantly For the oncoming Train.


Centripetal Volume 12 Issue 1  
Centripetal Volume 12 Issue 1  

Volume 12 Issue 1--Fall 2010