Forgotten
In a corner of the yard
Stood a faded brick relic
A fading shadow of Sault Ste. Marie
Turntable pit
Filled with water and debris
Fenced off for safety
The tracks don't lead here anymore
Couplers and trucks
Litter the area
Cast-offs from daily operations
Reminders of activity covered in weeds
Darkness impenetrable from outside
Peering in through dirty windows
Reveals nothing of any secrets
A closer look is needed
The door isn't even locked
The grim 'Keep Out' signs
Are thought to be enough
But I don't see those anymore
Eyes adjusting to the dim
Afraid to move until they do
Light streams down here and there
From holes in the roof
Pillars of white light
Showing an incomplete snapshot
Of life today inside the roundhouse
The mind is left to fill in the gaps
Here there is train track
Rusty with age
A spike half pulled up
Rust glimmering wetly in the light
There a pit between two rails
Deep enough for a man to stand
To oil the axles and have a lunch
The bottom unseen under a thick gunk
Slowly eyes adjust
Seeing what can be seen
Nothing but a shambles is left
Showing tracks in the building
At shallow angles to each other
Covered in dirt and must
Not much to see
Until I turn around
Barely making out the blackboard
Hanging on the wall next to the office
Proclaiming itself to be
Round House 8c Safety
Bulletin
Things half erased living upon it
The bottom most item
Written in large hurried letters:
Last one out
Please lock the door
No comments:
Post a Comment