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A Special Train
DANIEL HOFFMAN
A SPECIAL TRAIN
Banners! Bunting! The engine throbs
In waves of heat, a stifling glare
Tinges the observation-car
And there, leaning over the railing,
What am I
Doing in the Orient?
Blackflies, shrapnel-thick, make bullocks
Twitch. The peasants stand
Still as shrines,
And look, in this paddy
A little boy is putting in the shoots.
He's naked in the sunlight. It's my son!
There he is again, in that
Field where the earth-walls meet.
It's his play-time. See, his hands are smeared
With mud, and his white
Back is flecked with ash, is seared
By embers dropping from the sky-
The train chuffs past. I cry
Stop! Stop! We cross another paddy,
He's there, he's fallen in the mud, he groans my name.