Legitimate Edgar

Do not cross the tracks
was the last thing I saw,
besides a blonde
I should have sat with.
She looked like
she had an accent
as pretty as that ass.

Sighs fall at a train’s late arrival.
The best captive is one who
doesn’t know they’re a captive.

Metal cars on metal tracks
rush the restless
snowsmoke. It settles
after we leave.

A man,
rows beyond seeing
has been snoring.
His coat,
dirty yellow, hung
in the aisle.
Earlier, he had
been smoking
a yellow joint.

Up and down,
she shakes her head
or the train
shakes her head.
In the corner of my eye
I see strawberry blonde
bounce up and down.

Attention spans
not far from the glass.
Cold cows,
they must be cold,
crowded mass of brown.
A white cow
stands off to the side.
The snow
had already got to him.

A river
a creek
bends before
the side of the train
like a line
of dominos,
of cocaine.

Albion,
Albion train station.

Up icy stool steps
board ticket holders
and stale cold air
and white light.
If they closed
the windows and doors
I’d never have to
see again.

Legitimate Edgar

Shawn McDaniel

Auburn Hills, United States

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