Profoundly stippled by rain,
the view from the rail coach window
corrugates against my face.
In the foreground, a red tractor,
a man in yellow shirt and blue cap
maneuvering before a structure
composed of simple geometries—
single story, range of tall windows.
Beyond and overlooking the scene,
a power pole is a crucifixion
with a bulky corpse slung on it
that’s probably a transformer.
A day so simply presented
but crudely textured by weather
offers little compensation
before the train lurches forward,
slicking on wet rails toward New York
where skyscrapers bristle with anger
and the greatest sums of money
change hands without a whimper.
I have errands in the city;
but rather than visit the stock exchange
with its ravishing visions of wealth,
I would like to steer that red tractor
beyond the frame of this window.
As the rain continues painting
with its blunt acidic brush strokes,
I would step indoors and wring myself
dry in a heated warehouse full
of unknown materials plotting.
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