Walking, Blues

Rain so dark I
can’t get through—
train going by

in a hurry. The voice
said walk or die, I
walked,—the train

and the voice all
blurry. I walked with
my bones and my heart

of chalk, not even
a splintered notion:
days of thought, nights

of worry,—lonesome
train in a hurry.

More Poems by Jane Mead