Poem of the Day #30

Track

We were driving; no, ballooning.
We hover over the train tracks at sunset, out by Laguna.
BNSF half-mile long, cars hauling uranium, no, coal.

We land in the casino parking lot.  Mostly old people
inside, but some young ones, where money is traded
for expectations of dreams. 

Six thousand dollars is counted out to one woman
in cash, hundreds. Time to get out of here.  City lights
are a distant flicker on the horizon.

We float east and the train is still there, now motionless.
I think of my parents, they would like this adventure.
They sleep three states away, distant. 

Dreams so deep they won't remember
the journey when they wake up in their room.
The pilot gives us a shot of propane.

We rise, reaching;
content to drift,
silent at sunrise.

This is my final poem for April poetry  month.  I grew up with my dad and brother being railfans and into model railroading. Every time I pass a depot or train museum I'm conditioned to stop. While driving on I-40 west of Albuquerque towards Acoma Pueblo and Grants I've seen long trains. I don't have a photo, but the one here will have to do. I combined my love of hot air ballooning with trains in this poem.