The deer have caught sight of me watching them eating.
They pitch forward and turn running hard up the hillside
and that’s when I see the buck up there waiting.
Far out of range he waits for his family.
When they meet up they melt away into the forest.
Hole up for the Winter.
They feel safe in the red oaks, and boulders,
between civilization on the one side
and the long train down in the valley
running along the river.
It is a long train.
People are dying all over the place.
There’s a long train pulling us into the darkness.
There are ears to the ground.
There are eyes on the horizon.
There is no one and nothing coming to save us.
Gather your loved ones close to your bosom
and find your place to hole up for the Winter.
It’s a long train. A long, long train.
The people left living
eat medications
delivered by drones high in the sky.
Women in skirts and blouses
too hot to handle,bought second hand
predicting the weather.
Pessimistic futures based on unproven theories
delivered by false profits,
at work in their basements.
They’re building models with erector sets,
and bottles on conveyor belts.
They hold seances with Tarot cards.
They’ve traded their bicycles
for dreams of self-driving cars.
I sit with my elbow resting on the window stool,
watching the deer eat delicately up high on my hillside.
The 5:10 meanders off in the distance.
I can just barely hear it.
I used to ride it.
It’s carrying the bodies
back up the Hudson
to Newburgh and Beacon.
It’s a long, train.
The Tear of the Clouds.
It’s a long, long train.
