Canada at19

by Fred Sengmueller

hopping a freight out of Hinton, Alberta,
in my pale green linen blazer
and snaky leather shoes,
a suitcase full of Penguin Classics
trailing behind me like an iron ball:
as we tumbled out onto the prairie
I turned the last pages of "Vile Bodies"
certain that beautiful women
would make much of me if they knew.

later, somewhere past Hornpayne,
past "Absalom Absalom",
the crease now gone on my trousers,
palms grimy, stomach three days shy of food,
but half a continent under my belt -

somewhere down a windy hallway
papered with a pattern of spruce,
the twilight ruffling my hair,
I happened to recall those old train songs
from the "American Blues Hour" -
songs about rolling home
or breaking the chains,
songs it ocurred to me
I too now had a right to sing -
if only I had learnt them.